Glass Heart

“Give me a song of hope and a world where I can sing it.” – Pauli Murray

Give a glass heart to

Me. say you’ll trade my heart back maybe tomorrow–

A lie too raw like a newly picked scab.

Song structure had always confused me–

Of sweet flowers and

Hope I was born

And songs never felt quite right like

A

World where my heart lives gleefully. I will never stop asking

Where? Where?

I can’t keep searching, stars.

Can you sift it out of the never-ending gem-studded sand of infinity?

Sing a song to help me understand–I won’t, though–that

It isn’t personal, it’s just the wrong world.

Blood on the Ice

The landing pod touched down on the barren planet as the crew took their first look at planet C42. “Landing pod to Space Center; We have touched down with no damage. I repeat, we have touched down with no damage,” the captain, Xavier Vanlaere, said into the com. 

London Hill, pilot and navigator, barked orders from her seat. “Do not move until final orders are given. There has been no hull damage currently, but we have lost contact with C42 PS crew 01. We don’t know what we are getting ourselves into, so stay sharp. Their landing pod is 3 clicks north from here, and it is our job to find it. This was a failed mission and there are no presumed survivors. Proceed with caution and level headedness.” Flooding out of the ship, a scout squad armed with the latest high caliber weaponry strode out onto the desolate planet. Ice geysers stood frozen. Wind whipped through the suits of the crew, and frost was already forming around their feet. They felt the cold of course, but they weren’t prepared for what would come next. As they strode in rank and formation toward the signal coming from the landing pod’s radar, none of them knew what to expect, but whatever they did, it wasn’t what awaited them.

As they marched toward the signal, the soldiers took bets with each other, trying to ease the tension that electrified the air. All of them stayed alert though, their halfhearted voices echoing throughout the empty planet. The group rounded a corner and the landing pod came into view. They all halted.

“Son of a bitch,” one of the soldiers swore. 

“Lieutenant Craw, send a squad to scout the ship,” Vanlaere barked. “We will remain here until you deem it safe. Be aware, soldier.”

The soldiers rustled with anticipation, and murmurs arose. None of them quite trusted this empty planet. 

Ten minutes later, Craw sprinted back toward the ship, face red with adrenaline and fear. “Sir!” He held something in his glove. 

Vanlaere snapped straight up. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

Craw reached them. “Captain,” he panted. “I’ve found something.” He dropped what looked like a hard drive into Vanlaere’s outstretched hand. “There’s not much else, sir. But this was in it. There were also test tubes, and it looked like it held some sort of blood.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Vanlaere clenched the drive. “Let’s see what really happened to C42 PS crew 01.”

28 YEARS EARLIER

Toby: Mission log, C42-01. We found ourselves here after an unmarked planet showed up on our radar. Landscape appears to be mostly ice. Still unsure about going out of our landing pod, wind speed appears to be far greater than earth’s. Sensors outside the ship read 14.2% O2, unsafe for us. We found a frozen ocean, H2O with an abundance of Sulfate. Still don’t have a good reading on the depths of the ice, Betty was disabled following a gust of wind. One landing pod was busted on impact. We landed almost 4 kilometers from the projected landing zone. Gravity 1.65 Gs, so the suits will be able to handle it. Sea level is -13 meters relative to earth, and the tallest visible peak is 1642.2 meters. This is Toby, engineer, signing off.

Violet: Mission log, C42-02. The landing was rough as part of the landing gear got stuck in the ice. I was tasked with mapping out the new planet with the drone Betty 1.0 but during the first hour of her departure the connection was cut, and when we sent Bella 4.6 to look for Betty, Betty was missing. Since Betty was destroyed we have put off making the map. I also helped Toby with fixing the ship’s landing gear. Tessa and I got into a fight when she wanted me to go outside and I resisted. Man, I really want to go home. I mean, it can’t be as bad as last time.

Sammi: Mission log, C42-03. We have not explored outside of the pod. Birdlike creatures have destroyed Betty, but haven’t done anything to the broken skeleton since then. It appears they attack anything that moves and it is almost impossible to avoid them. Our landing gear broke and we don’t have the parts to fix it. We are stranded now, but the panic hasn’t set in for anybody yet. It’s only a matter of time though. The thermometer outside reads -121.2 C°. Our suits can handle the cold, but we are not sure how to avoid the birds to get to the ice and fish people. Ice geysers streak toward the sky then freeze in a curved position as a result of the hundred kph wind and climate. We have been sent food, and supplies, but command doesn’t have the parts for the landing gear Toby needs to repair the ship. We also need to get samples.

Toby: Mission log, C42-04. Found an instance of C42-C just now. It was chewing through some of the wires. I haven’t seen a specimen this size. Subject resembles a rabbit mixed with a mole, with completely white fur and red eyes. They tunnel around in the snow to avoid the birds and winds. These guys prove how versatile life can be. 

Tessa: Mission log, C42-05. We have made contact with C42. The landing gear is stuck in the ice. This makes quick escape an improbable option. However this provides more time for data and sample collection. Violet has voiced how angry she is with me. I don’t understand it. Whilst trying to fix the ship Toby found a mole-like creature identified as C42-C. They tunnel under the ice and snow to hide from C42-B. This is how we could move without C42-B attacking us. We could use this to get to the C42-A. I need to get my hands on one of the C42-C to get samples. Sammi told me I shouldn’t touch them until we know more. I think she is a fool. We must act on this opportunity or we could lose it. 

Violet: Mission log, C42-06. Toby found a white mole-like creature that tunnels under the snow. Tessa said we could use this to move around without being killed like Betty, and she is going to chase after one of those mole things. I mean, what if the thing scratches her or bites her and she gets infected and it spreads to Sammi and Toby and everyone dies? I also helped Toby with the ship. 

Sammi: Mission log, C42-07. Tessa and I are taking a sample of the ice today. We have found a way to get deep under the ice to take the sample modeling after a new species we have discovered. C42-C looks like a hybrid of a rabbit and mole. It tunnels under the ice with sharp teeth and claws and seems immune to the cold, although it doesn’t have much fur. They are white. Tessa is intrigued but we don’t know its defenses and habits so I’ve told her to stay away from it for now. I’m running low on supplies to treat her if she gets injured. She’s not going to listen to me.

Toby: Mission log, C42-08.  Finally got a clear reading on the ice depths after going through 3 different Bettys. Ice is .54 kilometers deep, and lowest layers are past 12,000 years deep. Did you know the atmosphere here used to be breathable? MRS 01 was destroyed by those damn birds and, oh yeah, none of our measures to bring down instances of C42-B have been successful. They are immortal. Great. On top of that, they attack anything that moves even an inch. I managed to get a signal up to Betty 1.0’s backup camera and found a whole horde of the things. They seem to be riding air currents in a massive loop. Still trying to get that landing gear fixed, can’t take off till we do. This is Toby, engineer, signing off.

Toby: Mission log C42-09. Well, command abandoned us. They said it was “too expensive to keep us alive.” So we have about two weeks till rations run out, and a further three weeks to starve. Of course, we can’t let that happen. The others and I are trying to formulate a plan, but I know it’s gonna be up to me to put that into action. 

Sammi: Mission log, C42-10. Food is dwindling. We have enough to get us through at least a week and a half, after that… 

I’m not sure how it happened exactly, but we have slowly been receiving less and less supplies from Command. Our radars don’t pick up their orbit around C42’s atmosphere. Violet hasn’t been keeping records of our food, so we don’t know when the food started to stop arriving. They’ve given up on us. Toby seems panicked, I think he realizes. It just got a lot more dangerous for us.

Toby: Mission log, C42-11. I think I have a plan to get off this planet once and for all. Command originally sent us some emergency flares, which have since been lost when I outfitted them to a Betty. But I think that If I can make my own flares and get to the top of a mountain, I can get their attention, assuming our orbital AED is still there. I’m planning to take everyone with me in a few weeks. Our food is low, so I should work quickly. I will update you on further progress. This is Toby, engineer, signing off.

Tessa: Mission log, C42-12. We found a way to go under the ice to get to C42-A. We have not had any stable ways to communicate with C42-A. As of now my attempts to understand the language have been nearly impossible. I have discerned that the only way of communicating with them is through pictures. I am attempting to build a C42-A to English dictionary. I have yet to collect the samples of the bioluminescent particles that create the patterns on the C42-A people. They always run away or avoid me when I ask to gather more samples. Perhaps this is a tender issue for them. Whatever it may be, my samples are far more important.

Sammi: Mission log, C42-13. Tessa and I have gone down once before and taken a sample of the ice. She received a gash in her suit and arm on the way up, and after treating her I have no supplies left to treat anyone else. We are going down again today so Tessa may get her water sample. She also wants a blood sample of the Matcian people. I tell her that that will not likely happen. We have found two clans at war with each other. The C42-A, a kind of fish people we named the Matcian people, it appears, have been forced to choose sides. They live and fight under the ice, but never break it. Violet is leaning more and more heavily upon me, because Tessa is emotionally unavailable. Toby is sending Bettys out like sacrificial pigs. I don’t think he’s getting any work done. He knows the safe word and has the strength to crank the lever to pull us back up though. But I have a gut feeling something will go wrong, I just don’t know what. It’s not safe, and I will not insult anyone’s intelligence by saying it is, but I believe we have a chance to get these samples. If everything goes according to plan.  We just need to get off this damn planet.

Violet: Mission log, C42-14. I finished mapping the planet it is really snowy and icy and I am starting to use the stupid AI therapist. It’s supposed to help but I don’t think it is. We discovered a creature that killed Betty 1.0. It’s a giant bird that hunts things that move. Tessa calls them C42-B. I spent most of my time with Sammi then Tessa came in with a gash and for some reason I started to breathe heavily and I don’t even like Tessa. Then the stupid AI said “You are safe. Everything is alright, you are in a safe place.” NO! I am not safe. This planet killed Betty. 

Toby: Mission log, C42-15. Where is my wrench? Damn. Wait this thing is, oh. Okay, I think I finally did it. I finally outfitted the suit with enough oxygen to reach the mountain. I made some flares. I can finally talk to command. Only issue is, there is a stretch of water, meaning I can’t tunnel under the snow most of the way. It will be a run. I could go around, but that is a multi day trip, and I don’t have enough O2. Command can get me out of this planet, they can take me home. Violet has just been yelling at me, don’t think she realizes that if she tries to use the ship we’ll all die. They don’t think that it’s possible to get to the mountain. Don’t they trust their engineer? I’m planning to leave before anyone else. I’ll give you one more log, and then commands picking me up. This is Toby and oh yeah, one more thing. I hid Bella so only I can use her. Nobody else needs to know I’m scouting the mountain. These Matcians have been sacrificing themselves every few days, I don’t think they realize it does nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone next week.

Tessa: Mission log, C42-16. My samples are nearly complete. I have yet to collect data from C42-B. Perhaps I should collect samples from C42-B before we return to command. The C42-A people seem to be at their wits end. I will not stop at this point. Sammi tells me I should be more careful to not offend them. My data collection is going swimmingly. Maybe Mother and Father will be proud when I return. 

Toby: Mission log, C42-17. I started picking up poetry for my last few days on the pod. Found some Edgar Alllen Poe from my school days. Forgot I even had these. Might as well read them, I doubt I can ever see them again. I still haven’t told the others. They will just try to “help” me. I no longer need the unwillful cries to stray me from striding to my future. Was that good? Anyways, I don’t think I’ll be going on anymore planetary sweeps after this. 

Toby: Mission log, C42-18. Woe is me, the lords of these lands have abandoned my memes. The breath of Pan has been breathed into me, yet I freeze in this sea of life-stealing cold. I have no will to go on, and I see that my life has none left to give. Those called “command” have left me. I see my path, burned into my mind, yet I hear the screams of the cruel, unforgiving, killing sky-tyrants. They cannot see me as my heartbeat slows. So many great persons have passed this way. I will join the scores of those living in the life after death, floating around the cosmos while my mortal form remains frozen. Free from this frozen hell. Let me rest now. Peace y’all. 

Tessa: Mission log, C42-19. The C42-A has taken me prisoner. I have attempted to take samples from the walls as they seem to be made of some sort of spongelike material I have not yet seen nor identified. The rest of the crew have not contacted me in awhile. The C42-A chitter away whenever they pass by my cell. I wonder if the chitters work as echolocation.

Violet: Mission log, C42-20. Sammi and Tessa are out with the fish people and I’m in my room with my thoughts. Command has stopped talking to me. When I saw Toby’s tool and drone room I thought I saw Rex working in there I got really scared. I talked to the AI therapist. It said that “her mother didn’t care about her” but she DOESN’T HAVE A MOTHER *cries*. AI therapist: “It’s all right to cry…” NO NO NOOOOOO! SMASH! *deep breathing* I threw it. It’s gone. Okay okay okay I should talk to Toby. Hey hello? Toby, are you there? Toby? TOBY please please answer. I-I-I can’t. We can’t be without you. Don’t leave meee! *sobs*. Why did I come here? Why did I let myself come here? I was a great pilot with a good crew that did good missions but then they died and here I am about to die. I don’t want to die.

Tessa: Mission log, C42-21. They are taking me out of my cell and covering me in a firm sticky seafoam like gel. They are drilling through the ice. This seems to cause a large commotion among the people. 

Tessa: Mission log, C42-22. I am done. Goodbye, thank you. Mother, father. 

Sammi: Mission log, C42-23. Toby is dead. I can’t find his body. I don’t know how. Neither does Violet. She refuses to talk about it. Tessa was sacrificed to the Birds. It’s just Violet and me now. Not much else to report on. Still don’t have a lot of food, very little medical supplies. I don’t know. I’m a little bit numb right now. I’ll try to update later. What’s the point, though? Nobody will see this. Our engineer is gone. Our scientist is gone. Our food is almost gone. Everything but the painkillers are gone from the medical cabinet. Time is running out. 

Violet: Mission log, C42-24. Sammi came back from trying to get fish people samples… without Tessa. *sniffle* WE ARE GOING TO DIE HERE. First Toby dies, then Tessa dies by being sacrificed by the fish people to the birds. I got it, I got it. We can leave even if there are parts broken, we can probably still fly and get out of here. Yes. This is going to work, we are going to be out of here and I will never step foot on another hostile planet again! Hah hah, I have figured it all out, no one will die ever again. I’m going to tell Sammi all about this. Sammi Sammi we should just leave. Even though some parts are broken we can still fly. Sammi: “The bird things will probably get the ship if we try to fly away.” Okay we can’t fly away. *cries*

Sammi: Mission log, C42-25. I found his body. He was impaled on an ice geyser. He was my companion. I was stuck with him for almost three months. I feel empty. But not sad. Not lost. All I feel is worried for myself. Should I feel bad? I didn’t know him that well, but… he was my crewmate. I don’t feel anything. It’s like an endless spiral into hell and insanity, and I don’t know a way to fix this. How do I help us? How do I save us?

Sammi: Mission log, C42-26. Violet is unstable. I cannot deal with it. She talks and talks and doesn’t do anything. She asked if I missed anyone. Then she asked if I had a partner. Then it was onto pets. Then it was a monologue on how much she missed her family. Then she explained every aspect of her social life. Next, she launched into every part of her education. Then she started sobbing. I hugged her, and patted her back. I can’t take much more of this. I need to help myself too.

Violet: Mission log, C42-27. So, things have been going well and no one has died. WE CAN’T LEAVE WE ARE GOING TO DIE HERE. I shouldn’t have thrown the AI therapist. At least I have Sammi. Speaking of Sammi, I’m going to talk to Sammi.

Sammi: Mission log, C42-28. I miss Mom, Buddy, and Dad. Damn it, I miss Tessa too. We weren’t family and we didn’t know each other before the trip, but we were stuck on an ice planet together for four months and all Violet does is talk to me. She won’t leave me alone. I don’t have a lot of alone time, but when I do my only thoughts are: Is this worth it?

Sammi: Mission log, C42-29. It’s not. It’s not worth it. Not with my entire crew almost gone. I’m going to try to get the samples of C42-B tonight. For Mom and Dad. I love you.

Sammi: Mission log, C42-30. I’ve used almost the last of my painkillers. They make me forget. I should probably stop but I can’t. I can’t stop.

I just…

can’t…

stop…

Violet: Mission log, C42-31. Sammi died! *cries* She overdosed on pain meds so she wouldn’t have gone crazy. *Ship door opening* *Quiet* Ohhhh I know what I can do, let’s go visit the fish people! Oh you must be the cult. You want me to join you. Rex, everyone! You’re here! I thought you died. I’m so happy. Guess I have to go. *Splash*

Four dead. A small sacrifice in the scale of humanity. And all in the name of science. Military personnel don’t flinch in the face of death, yet knowing the truth of what happens to astronauts who lose contact is more… grim. “Pack up and let’s move out!” barked Hill. “We gotta get this bird off the ground! There is nothing else for us here.” She avoided the eyes of her crew. It felt wrong to leave their memories here, but how else. Their families were dead, as far as any of them knew. There was nothing left. Nothing else to do. As the ship ascended out of the atmosphere, Hill couldn’t help but think about whether their deaths were necessary. 

Watching as the planet’s dying sun rose over the horizon, the dead crew’s landing pod fading into a black dot in the distance, Hill muttered to Vanlaere, “Do you think they had to die?”

“Had to?” He responded. “No; but it’s not up to us, and what’s done is done. Best not to think about it.” He kept his eyes on the horizon, not looking at Hill. Hill glanced behind her, through the film of the atmosphere. She took note of the soldiers behind her doing the same. Her guilt pounded through her with every second the ship got farther from the planet.

The icy planet grew distant, and most of the soldiers turned back. Hill stayed twisted around though, staring out the glass until her eyes glazed and her back ached, yet she stayed. The very least she could do to pay tribute to the four who died. Who no one would remember. And so she looked. The icy, desolate, bare, hostile planet that used to be full of life. The last London Hill and her crew saw of the planet C42 looked almost peaceful, when the harsh winds, and cold climate couldn’t be felt. Peace. She hoped those four crew members had found it.

The End

Or is it…

 Yes. It is.

The Path to School

Fall,

Wheat covered,

Wind whipped,

Dirt and mud,

Stones under foot,

Crunch as you step,

Walk through the dry, dead grass,

The forest

Covered in red and orange hues

And stick figure trees,

Nearly winter now

Over the storm drain,

Cloudy sky,

Off to school with you.

Winter,

Bone chilling cold,

Sky clouded,

Soaked with rain,

Grass dead,

Stumble,

Catch your balance,

Stumble,

Fall,

Mud everywhere,

The forest 

Covered in sticks

Dead vines,

Leaves crumble under foot

Hidden in mounds of snow,

Shiver over to the storm drain,

Can’t wait ‘till spring,

Get out of the cold,

Run to school.

Spring,

Buds,

On the trees,

Bushes bursting with little green leaves,

Color filtering back into the grass,

Hope coming,

Mind clearing,

Sun shining,

Joy blossoming,

Skip down the path,

The forest

Vivid red buds

Dappled light

Peace forming,

Jump by the storm drain,

Grass getting taller, greener,

Buds on the trees,

You are hesitant for school.

Summer,

Last days of cooler air,

Grass is green and tall,

Fall into it,

Roll down the dandelion covered hill,

Trees are green and thick with leaves,

Laughter fills the air,

So much light,

So much joy,

Sun shining, 

The forest

Calm place of shadowed shelter,

Full of cicadas 

Chirping away,

You spring to the storm drain,

Graze the waist-high emerald grass

With your hand,

Softly tuck a flower in your hair,

Touch a perfect green leaf

Put it in your pocket,

It’s the last you’ll feel for hours,

You don’t want to go to school. 

Based on All Summer in a Day by Ray Bradbury

All Summer in a Day

I dream of a

glistening

burning

radiant

Sun

gold crayon

sunflower

fire on the stove

I feel the

heat

warmth

Of the sun against my skin

I’m 

Spinning

Leaping

dancing

Across the soft ground

Flowers blooming around me

But then I fall

and wake 

from my dream 

and 

deep sleep

I wake up to see the 

pounding

endless

crystal – clear

Rain

An ocean of 

sorrow

despair

misery

A single raindrop

The thunder is

roaring

booming

whooping

Outside

A storm swirling with everlasting rain and thunder

The misty sky so

hazy

foggy

cloudy

The rainshower continues

Revenge Awoken

“The Old Ones are awakening, it’s time. Humanity will finally rue the day that it stoked the fires of our destruction. Come my fallen kin, the realm of land is ours to play.”

I had waited seventeen years for this moment.

I was raised to be the woman I am now.

I was born to be her.

Humans kill those who they cannot control. And now we shall kill them.

Ten generations of my family sacrificing their lives have led to this. The fate of our species’ kind rests on my shoulders. And I am ready.

I lean over my ancestors’ graves, swirling a drop of human blood with a drop of mine. For one of the few times in my life, I am above ground. I am surrounded by all our supporters, chanting the phrase from our Necronomicon.

The drop of blood falls. I step back from the tomb and drop my pendant into the dirt, crushing it with the heel of my foot, and recite the chant.

“Rise, my ancestors, the Old Ones have awoken! Come, and let us regain what is ours! Rise, my ancestors, let us seek revenge on thou who hast wronged us!” I shout into the night.

“Is it true?” our followers whisper. “Are they back? For good?”

“We do not know yet,” I announce, “but — we know one thing for certain. They’re here, and they will destroy those who wronged us!”

For centuries we were banished under the surface of the earth, as close to the Underworld as one can get. In both a literal and metaphorical sense. But this is the time to strike. We were knocked down and buried underground for long enough. Now, we rise.

“The humans have brutally murdered our kind! It is time for our revenge. A thousand years have passed and the Old Ones have risen again! They will help us in our quest for blood!”

My life is destroying humans. I was born for this. My parents strategically picked this time out. They trained me for this. Since I was a newborn. I’ve mastered the arts of killing and necromancy.

I am ready for this moment.

I have to be. It’s my only choice.

Otherwise, I’d be letting down my family and everything they’ve stood for. Thus, destroying what they’ve worked on for millennia.

I have to do this.

I have to sacrifice myself, the way so many others have.

The razor-sharp knife is gleaming. It is heated by the fire.

I cut a gash along my palm and press the bleeding flesh to the ground.

The pain and the blood loss are making me dizzy. Stars dance through my vision, my soul screams like a banshee wronged.

But I have learned to ignore pain. I grit my teeth, clenching my other, non-bleeding fist so hard my knuckles turn white and crescent moons appear in my palm.

Recently, my hands have been covered in scars. Some from the cutting. Some from the clenching of my fists.

But I have to do this.

Slowly I draw my hand up from the ground. The wound is full of dirt, and a pool of red is seeping into the soil where my palm was.

“Bring me the alcohol!” I bark.

A follower quickly rushes up. I’m not sure if this is the rubbing alcohol for cuts or my followers’ drinking supplies. I pour it over the cut and resist the urge to scream.

But I don’t feel pain. Pain is a weakness. I can’t be weak.

I wipe my hand on the side of my robes, adding another scarlet stain to the soiled, bloodied robe.

Gripping the Necronomicon with my non-injured hand, I begin to chant.

“Rise, my ancestors, the Old Ones have awoken! Come, and let us regain what is ours! Rise, my ancestors, let us seek revenge on thou who hast wronged us!”

“It’s time,” I hiss. Shadows pour from my throat, twisting in the moonlight. Souls in the form of white, wispy shadow-creatures emerge from their lairs.

“Daughter of the Darkness,” one of them bows to me.

“Lady of the Night.”

“Necromancer. Witch. Savior.”

“Thank you, my ancestors,” I say, sweeping into a low bow. “How may I serve you?”

“Dost thou remember thy promise?” one says. This is the biggest, most humanoid one. “Dost thou remember what thou hath sworn to uphold?”

“Of course,” I say. “Once the Old Ones have awoken, revive you, and you shall present the Old Ones with Necronomicon. Reclaim our land and take over the world. Do to the humans what they have done to us.” I hand my ancestors the Necronomicon after hugging it one last time to my chest. For all my seventeen years, the Necronomicon was my life. To most, it looked like any ancient, leather-bound book, but for me, it was special. I traced my fingers along the face emblazoned on the cover, mouth stretched open in a cry of agony, eyes lolling in slightly different directions. The face of the cursed soul trapped inside the Necronomicon. Shadorath himself, Ruler of the Old Ones.

I told myself that my ancestors had done just as much work as I had, worked with the Necronomicon twice as long, but my heart felt emptier with the Necronomicon gone. But I didn’t cry. I never cried. Crying was a sign of weakness. Someone like me can’t be weak.

“I thank you. Thou art not any little girl. Thou art our savior. Now that we have returned, we shall overthrow the Old Ones.”

“Of course. What shall I do?”

“Do what thou normally would before resurrecting us. Thy father, when he joined us, told us that thou were most talented at the art of Necromancy.”

I hid any emotion I felt at my ancestors, who I revived, doing everything, and I, staying here for necromancy. Like they said: I was their “savior.” I was one of the best necromancers, particularly with the Necronomicon, in several hundred years. So why did they leave me behind?

Well, they were right about one thing. I was not any obedient little girl. I was going to get revenge on the humans too, whether they liked it or not.

They can’t kill me. I died a long time ago. Seventeen years have passed since a little girl died and a necromancer was born.

My room underground is as well furnished as a damp cave can guess. Sconces for torches line the wall, and a luxurious bed graces the back wall. It’s not homely, but it’s home.

I stare grimly at the cold stone beneath my feet. “Goodbye,” I whisper to the air, a trace of the smell of mildew and smoke dancing in the cave. I gather my spell books and my notes on dark magic. What else would I need?

Wrapping myself in my long black cloak, I leave my room for what might be forever.

I unroll my map, yellowed by time. The nearest human civilization is around five miles away. I’ll walk there, and then slaughter them all.

When I was an innocent child, before I knew the ways of the world, I wondered why we wanted to kill humans. Now I know and do so without question.

One thousand years ago, humans brutally murdered us during a peace treaty between our kinds. They took over what was deemed our territory, and destroyed our villages, men, women, and even children. All just because we were born with dark magic. Of the few that survived were my ancestors, who created a new life underground. Ever since we’ve been planning revenge on the humans. Me, my ancestors, and everyone else. 

My footsteps are silent on the snow-crusted ground of the cold, empty night. Stars, normally sparkling flecks of light resisting the dark pull of the night have faded behind looming clouds. An ominous warning that the new age of darkness shall begin. 

My eyes gleam like liquid silver as I read the map. I am there. Redwood’s small, cozy village is a homely hearth in a haunted palace. But tonight, the fire shall be extinguished.

To conjure enough dark magic to kill the entire village, the price I’ll need to pay shall be more than blood. I shall need to pay part of my soul.

It’s easier to sacrifice parts of your soul when they’re in objects, like the pendant I crushed for the ritual. But when you care about something so much you would sacrifice your soul for it, you can do it.

You know part of your soul is gone when you feel the feeling of something draining out of you, your strongest emotions losing their edge, your heart hardening. Every day, I would take a tiny piece of my soul and transfer it to the pendant. It was adorned with a depiction of Shadorath, for it’s him you trade your soul for dark magic. When I crushed the pendant during the ritual, Shadorath took it and revived my ancestors. But if I lose the entirety of my soul, I can never be revived.

But I’d rather be gone than my life’s work.

I stand in the middle of the village, a shadow among the many, silhouetted by torchlight. I let the darkness gather upon me, seeping into my flesh, my blood. But before I kill them all, I want them awake, so they can feel themselves die, see that we’re back, we’re ready to do to the humans what they have done to us. So I scream, letting all of my anguish and stress, anger and sadness, fill the night air. Some lock their doors and windows, and some fling them open and rush out. I turn to them and smile malevolently.

“Hello, humans. We are back. You’ve killed us for long enough. Now we strike back.” My voice is devoid of emotion. It’s just facts. My smile turns sad. And I release everything that’s been holding me down. Shadows seethe and lunge, turn and twist. They rapidly emerge, pouring from every direction. Children sob and wail. Adults run, focusing their energy on escaping and not screaming. I see one woman making a gesture of prayer before jumping out her bedroom window, a newborn baby grasped tightly in her arms. I hear the snap of her neck once she hits the bottom and the baby’s cries. I smile to myself. Shadorath will make sure she does not get a happy afterlife.

No one can escape. No one can run from their shadows forever. They will all die. I watch the humans drop like flies around me. Certain all of them are dead, I turn away.

And then I hear it. The baby. It’s still alive. I turn around, ready to dispose of it. I draw my knife from my pocket ready to slit its throat. But I can’t. It’s just a baby, it can’t hurt anyone, a voice in the back of my mind tells me. That’s not what the humans were thinking when they killed us, I think back. But you’re better than them, says the voice.

Now I see why my ancestors didn’t want me on the quest. I’m weak. Mercy is weakness. But I can’t do it. Be better than them, the voice presses. Slowly I put the knife back. I could just leave it to die. That would be a slower death anyways. But—-no, I can’t. It goes against everything I’ve sworn to uphold, but I have to. I gently scoop the baby up and rock it to quiet its crying. The baby smiles a huge, toothless grin at me, babbling happily.

“Cora,” I murmur. That is the name stitched upon the baby’s blanket. It fits her perfectly. In our language, it means “heart”. “Cora LeTanith.” LeTanith is my last name. It sounds perfect on her. But what do I do? I can’t just bring her along while I murder everyone, can I? I’ll have to go back. My heart sinks. The next village is almost eight miles from here. If I go back, it’ll be five miles there, five miles back to here, and then another eight miles to the next village. That’s eight versus eighteen. And I can’t do that in one night.

Out of ideas, I decide to sleep on it. I enter the house and tuck the baby in her cradle, giving her a bottle of milk to feed on, and I sleep in her mother’s bed.

The mother that I killed, I think. My stomach turns and I chew on my lip, tossing and turning. I killed everyone. Just-just slaughtered them all. A few humans killed us a thousand years ago. This is proving we’re no better than them. But what will Father—I mean, my ancestors feel when they hear what I’m thinking? They would hate me. I’m failing to uphold my promise. How could I do such a thing?

I try to fall asleep, but I can’t bring myself to. What would Father think of me if he was here? I’m glad that Father completely sacrificed his soul before he died—wait, did I just think that? How could I? Father raised me. He shaped me into who I am today.

But is that a good thing? The voice in the back of my head asks. You just sacrificed your soul to kill a bunch of people who did nothing wrong.

I bury my head in the pillow, the weight of what I’d done digging deep into my back. Tears dampen the pillow and I taste the salt. What have I done? Showing mercy? Feeling guilty? Crying, for Shadorath’s sake?

Suddenly a high, sharp scream fills the air. It’s Cora. I rush over to her cradle and scoop her up. Her wails stop as I gently rock her in my arms. I slowly lay down in my bed, still hugging her. Her weight against my chest, the warmth of her breath, and the steady beat of her heart lull me to sleep.

I wake with an idea. “How would you like to live in a nice family in the next village?” I coo to her.

Cora babbles happily.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

I walk outside, her in my arms to find my ancestors. Crowing gleefully at the demolished village. I quickly duck back inside the house, but not before one of them sees me.

“Isobel!” a man barks, ghost face twirling in malice. “So. Thou decided to follow us.”

“Actually, I was here first, so it’s more accurate to say you followed me.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say. Turning sharply on my heel, I flee.

“Not so fast,” the ghost man says, floating up in front of me. “Where art thou going? And what art thou doing with that baby?”

I spat in his face. “Shadows, come to me,” I roar. I feel my soul slowly draining out as Cora and I are brought to the next village.

But there is no better. “Witch!” a man screams, running from me. I smirk at his fear. I’m not even a witch. I just possess dark magic.

I float above the village square, elevated by a pedestal built of shadows. “Villagers, I mean no harm. I have found this baby alone, parentless, in a town nearby. I am wondering if any of you would adopt this poor orphan.

I hold out Cora to the villagers. She squeals in happiness.

“We don’t want anything you touched, witch,” the same man said. “Now leave us!”

I scowl. Just when I think humans may not be all too bad after all, they prove me wrong. “If that’s how it’s going to be…” I leap off the pedestal gracefully, landing gently on the ground. The pedestal stretches out shadowy hands, grabbing the man and tying him up in the shadow tentacles.

“Who wants it next?” I sneer.

The entire village is dead silent, pierced by the man’s agonized screams.

I flick my wrist and the shadows drop him to the ground. “Do not tell me no again,” I declare to the townspeople, already leaving.

And then all of a sudden, I am surrounded by townspeople with pitchforks and kitchen knives. “You almost killed my father,” the shaky voice of a boy no older than me announces. The ring of humans grows tighter around me. Everywhere I turn, there is a blade aimed at my face.

How could I let this happen? How could I be so careless to just let them threaten me? I try to call the shadows, but they seem to have abandoned me.

Cora is crying, and I bring her close to my chest. She hugs me tightly with her tiny hands.

“Spare Cora,” I demand to the villagers. “Burn me. Drown me. Do whatever. But spare the girl. She’s just a baby.”

The boy snorts. “No.”

Suddenly a young man runs up. “This is the same girl who destroyed the last village!”

The villagers gasp and glare in harmony. “Kill her! Kill her!” They chant.

“How would you know that?” I demand. “The only survivor of that was little Cora.”

“Cora and my uncle,” says the young man. “He died moments after we found him. You killed him.”

“And now, we shall kill you.”

The villagers move forwards and stab me to death. I collapse with a smile on my face. Now. Now it’s fair. They killed us. We killed them. And now they kill me.

“Hello, Father,” I whisper. “I’m back.”

The last thing I see before I go home is Cora screaming. Running.

But one can never run from revenge.

Revenge is Best Served Cold

May 4th, 12:02 AM, 2022: S Flowers

S moved through the crowd, saying “excuse me,” and “sorry,” as she passed by different relatives. She found her mother wearing an all black dress next to her father who was wearing an all black tux. She sidled up next to them, and her mother hugged her close, tears streaming down her face. S let out a sigh of relief. Even though she hadn’t really known Mae Flowers, her great aunt that had died recently in a freak accident, it was still terrifying. What if that happened to one of her parents? (Don’t remember it.) 

“Are you okay?” S asked. Her mother knew Aunt Mae well, one of the only ones in the family. It must have been hard for her (knowing what her daughter had done). 

Her father put a hand on her mother’s shoulder, answering for her, “Your mother just needs some time.”

S nodded. “Should I go?” she questioned. Her father gave a curt nod before walking off. 

S sighed. It was always like this. Every year since S could talk, there had been a funeral in the Flower family. She turned and walked back through the sea of black clothing, spotting a girl under the shade of a maple tree, distant from everyone else. Might as well try to meet someone new. She thought, walking over to the girl. As she walked over she studied the new figure. She was wearing a tight black velvet dress, and next to her was a dog. 

“Hey!” S shouted, waving her hand at the girl. She looked up, realized S was talking to her, and quickly looked back down at the ground, trying to ignore S. Wow, rude much? S thought, squaring her shoulders and confidently walking over to the girl. The dog looked up at her, and its tail started to wag. S ignored it, although it would be fun to draw later. She took a mental picture. She was good at remembering things. It was what made her such a good artist: she could remember every shape that she wanted to. 

“Not much of a talker, huh?” S asked nonchalantly. 

The girl ignored her. “Fine,” she sighed, walking away again. 

She looked back over to where her mother and father had been standing. She couldn’t see them. Panic started to set in. Where are they? Where are they? Where- No. Don’t start spiraling. Not again. Never again. They just went to calm down. They’re fine. Don’t start again. She tugged at the edge of her hoodie, calming herself down until no traces of panic could be seen. Taking a deep breath, she looked over to the coffin where Aunt Mae’s body was. She smiled, today was a new day for S Flowers. 

April 7th, 1:03 AM: S Flowers

S snuck through the house, cheap knife in hand. This is a horrible idea. Her brain shouted at her, but she didn’t care. She needed to do this. Her father had recently been fired, and her mother was a public school teacher. They couldn’t survive without this money. She took a deep breath and quietly opened the door to her great aunt’s bedroom. She swallowed. She had to make this look like an accident. The knife wouldn’t work. She dug through her pockets and pulled out the strychnine bottle. She looked for the cup of water her mother said Aunt Mae always had by her bed, and poured the whole thing in. It was clear, and she really only needed a small amount, but this ensured that Aunt Mae would die. She had to. 

S turned to leave when she heard Aunt Mae waking up. “Child?” Aunt Mae asked, still groggy from sleep. S froze. “Has my time finally come?” 

S felt a tear slip down her cheek. God, she was a horrible person. “H-how did you know?” She asked, turning back to face her great aunt. Aunt Mae had the drink in her hand. Why is she drinking it if she knows? S asked herself. The thought was not filled with horror, more of a sense of relief. 

“I knew this day would come as soon as you were born, child.” Oh. “Will it be quick?” Aunt Mae asked. S just nodded, a mix of emotions stealing her voice. 

“It’s best if you leave, child.” Aunt Mae said to her. S regained her voice at that moment. 

“W-will you still take it?” S’s head was telling her that she was horrible, terrible, what was wrong with her?? Aunt Mae didn’t even flinch, just nodded. S whispered out a final “I’m sorry,” as she turned to leave. 

The last words out of her great aunt’s mouth were: “Take care, S. You’ve dug two graves for us, my dear.” S shuddered, a feeling of ice sliding down her spine as she walked away; she could hear the cup being set down, and knew what had just happened. Great Aunt Mae Flowers was dead.

Bad Things Come in Threes: Chapter One

Nora

I stare at myself in Tricia’s mirror. I shouldn’t be here, in her bathroom. She hates when I mess with her things. I feel so awkward in this black dress she made me put on. It’s snug with wide skirts and made of velvet. I run the comb through my light blond hair. I remember telling me how when I was a baby, Tricia thought I was albino and was freaking out. When they divorced I thought I would die being stuck with her. I’m positive the only reason I’m still here to tell the story is Nino, my Maltese dog. Dad got him for me before the divorce. I’ve never seen him since (Dad, not Nino); he died less than a year later and Tricia refuses to tell me how. 

“Nora!! What’s taking you so long? Come down here this instant!” A sharp voice from down the steps startles me out of my daydreams. That would be Tricia. She’s technically my Mother but the word couldn’t suit anyone less. She doesn’t have a mothering bone in all of her 207 bones. (She loves to brag about how she was born with an extra one.) Taking one last glance to make sure everything is in order, I scurry down the staircase and into the hall. Tricia awaits me on the Persian carpet by the front door. She surveys me with one eye and I fight the urge to squirm under her hard gaze. Finally she nods curtly, picks up her purse, and walks out the door. I follow behind her. Outside, the twilight air is frosty and I hug my Dad’s old jacket close to me on our way to the Sedan. Of course, I sit in the back, alone with my thoughts. Not that Tricia would have wanted me anywhere near the front anyway. It’s a long way to Flower, WV so we’ve started early in the morning. Does anyone understand silence? How it can be awkward and stiff, but yet bring beautiful peace? 

Usually, in my experience, silence is best. I would never lay my problems down on Tricia. For one thing, she is a large portion of my problems, but even if she wasn’t, she isn’t an understanding woman, especially not to me, and she’d probably make things worse. Sometimes purposefully. Anyway, since Dad left, or I guess, I left him, there hasn’t been anyone to talk to. Dad understood my need for silence, but Tricia took him away from me. At least he’s away from her too now. But usually, even when you’re talking to a really nice person, whenever you try to talk to them they jump in, asking you a bunch of questions and steering the conversation the way they want it to go. When that happens I feel like one little drop in their rushing river of conversation, being carried along without any choice. I hate it. So I remain silent. It’s easier without the possibility. 

* * *

I open my eyes to see sunlight streaming through the windows of the car. I feel hot and the air is stuffy. I rub my eyes and look around to see… no one

Sophie Levine lives in Bethesda, Maryland with her family. When not writing and reading, she loves hanging out with her brother and making memories together. (He is currently learning to swim!) She specifically enjoys writing poetry, realistic fiction, and essays. Sophie gives credit to her Writopia group, Nora will later meet characters from Caitlyn Levitan’s story and Nora’s story evolves from a group idea. 

Anxiety 

Tendrils of my gray fingers twist and crawl 

Infiltrate the chinks in your armor 

Coil and squeeze around your mind

I will exploit you from within 

I afflict cold chills, sweaty palms upon you: eerie instruments of my success 

Vivid scenarios of doom; One wrong move will spiral into ruin

Bypass coherent thought with omnipresent hysteria

I tip the fragile scale of your sanity 

Replace confidence with bleak doubt 

My whisperings of panic have unbraided you

The despair leads to surrender of the treasure like no other

The hidden door to your subconscious 

Leaving me alone at the control panel; I’ve changed the password, your entry is denied 

Spud the Spud

Spud the spud was an ordinary spud. He did spud things like play in the mud. Spud was the spuddiest spud one could be, doing the spuddiest things, like climbing a tree. One day Spud, (the spuddiest spud), invited his friends to play in the mud. Spud was excited, his friends full of glee, and the spuddiest of them went ahead and climbed a tree. That was Spud of course, the spuddiest of all, but when he tried to climb the tree, Spud the spud did fall. He landed on a tall, yet oddly small wall, and Spud the spud’s friends all gasped in awe. The bravery, the heroism, that Spud had possessed, they didn’t want him to end up like the rest, so they climbed up the wall, first aid kit and all, and checked on Spud the spud, after his fall. Spud was doing fine, so they slid down a vine, back to the safety of the ground. Spud looked around, and sat on a mound, pondering if his spudly wisdom was sound. Spud eventually knew that you’ve just gotta be you, you don’t have to show off or make others impressed. His friends were so great, really, the best. So from that day Spud decided to just appreciate what he had, instead of worrying a ton that his friends would be mad. 

The Satoria Program

Chapter One        

The wild lands of Cordoba, Spain

April’s pencil shattered. She was an excellent pencil breaker. She groaned and grabbed another one from her bag. Her history teacher gave her a look. Scattered around the sand colored classroom‘s floor were dead pencil carcasses. Yikes. 

         “Nice,” whispered Brooke.

         “It’s not a laughing matter.” Brooke laughed, and April rolled her eyes. Brooke was her best friend. At least in Spain she was. A couple of months ago April had moved from Baltimore to Spain because her Spanish professor father had come to study in Cordoba. So here she was in her international school. She sighed and turned back to her work. 

“Do you want to go to the La Mezquita Cathedral for a picnic during lunch break?” 

Asked Teresa. She was a native Spanish speaker but her English was really quite good. Since the students were encouraged to speak their second language out of class, April was her perfect English speaker; though nobody really spoke their second language out of class except for the English-speaking kids who didn’t have much choice if they wanted to have friends. 

“Sure.” Smiled April. “Oh, sorry, Si.” 

“¡Tu español está mejorando!“

“Merci beaucoup!” Said April, bowing. 

Something that April had to get used to was the very different schedule of Spain v.s. the U.S. In Spain, school ran from nine AM to five PM with a two hour break between one and three, so you could leave school during that time to eat lunch. Since it was only November, she was still getting used to this. Tereza led April up to the Cathedral. Outside on a picnic blanket sat Nour, Gala, Rosa, and Brooke. They looked very peaceful. 

“¡Holaaaa!” 

“¡Hola!” Brooke was from Switzerland and spoke English, French, and Spanish fluently, but the rest besides Tereza spoke little to no English. It was a fun lunch, but it felt like a hundred degrees out, even though it was November. Rosa had brought a frisbee and the girls decided to start a game, passing and chasing after it. The plaza around the Cathedral was blocked off by tan walls, but nonetheless April managed to throw the frisbee over them. 

“BRO!” Shouted Brooke. 

“¡Haha, búscalo!” said Nour. 

“Vamos. Geet.” Getting the frisbee was a shameful fate. The frisbee had gone over the west wall so she headed that way. She came out of the plaza onto the street and checked along the wall. Hmm, it wasn’t there. She walked along the street and looked all around– still nothing. She noticed a little wooden area up the street. It was odd that she’d never noticed it before; they ate lunch here a lot. Maybe the frisbee was up there. 

For some reason her hair stood on end as she entered the woods. 

“Ow!” she shouted. A small thorn bush had poked her. She rubbed her leg. Then she noticed something neon a little ways into the woods. It had to be the frisbee! She ran up to it. Perfect, a frisbee! But it wasn’t Nour’s frisbee. It was another frisbee. What a coincidence, she thought. Well, the frisbee could still be here; in fact, she saw something up to the left. It was a bit of an effort to pull it out of the tree it was stuck in. What… It was another frisbee. She looked around. More frisbees surrounded her! And there were balls too. Was that a whole bike? A skateboard? What was going on? Nah this is too trippy, thought April as she grabbed one of the frisbees and ran for it. Once she got out onto the street she ran straight to the plaza. 

She saw her friends chatting. “Gente!” 

“Tomó un lar-” Nour was cut off by April.

“I was in the forest next to that street on the west and I saw like five hundred frisbees and like balls and bikes and skateboards! They were everywhere! But I couldn’t find yours!” April was too weirded out to speak Spanish. 

“What?” Gala asked “ No entiendo.”

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “ There’s no forest on that street. Cordoba is like a desert, there aren’t any forests. Maybe it was a mirage.” 

“Um, no.” April said “ Because how would I still be holding-” She lifted up her hand to find nothing in it. “ What? But-but…” 

Nour sighed. 

“No frisbee!” They were all raising their eyebrows  at her. Even Rosa, who had no idea what she was talking about, looked doubtful. 

“I think you need to lie down.” Said Tereza. 

“¡Español por favor!” Said Gala. 

“Lo siento. Creo que Abril debe tomar una siesta.” 

“¿Qué?” 

The voices of her friends trailed off. Was April going crazy? Nour took her hand and led her inside.

“You really should go to the nurse, Abril– I mean, April.” Saadet, who sat next to April in Spanish, said as she tapped her on the shoulder. “You look really ill. “

“I am really ill.” April felt like throwing up. She raised her hand. 

“Abril?” Her Spanish teacher asked. 

“¿Puedo ir a la enfermería?”

“Sí.” 

As soon as April was out of the classroom she barfed in the trashcan in the hallway.

“Yuck…” 

On the way home April was burning up. Her parents didn’t have a car and relied on public transportation, so walking home was pretty painful. She called her parents letting them know she would be home soon. It was only a ten minute trip. When she got home her parents set her down in bed tenderly with an ice pack on her forehead. 

“Okay, you should just lie down for a while,” Her mom said. 

“Okay…” She trailed off.

The next morning April was still sick. 

And the morning after that.

Finally relief came. “Dad? I feel better…” 

“Really? May I take your temperature?” Her father said.

“Sure.” 

“Oh good, your fever has broken. Let’s keep you home today just in case.”

“Coolio.” 

April lay back down. While she was sick she’d had some weird fever dreams: flashing lights, maps of mysterious places, and a heck of a lot of frisbees. Her phone buzzed. 

“hola cuando vuelvas a la escuela? “ Read a text from Nour. 

“mañana” April texted back. 

“:)”

She thought for a bit while she peered up at the ceiling. I really need to find the frisbee woods. I need to know I’m not crazy. I need to know. I remember the plaza, and where it was on the west wall. There was only one day left of school this week, so she needed to take advantage of it. 

On Friday she packed some extra stuff in her bag. She planned to go to the woods before school so she woke up early.  She had 45 minutes to explore the woods.  

“Why the rush?” Her brother asked. 

“Gotta meet with my teacher because I missed stuff.” Nigel raised his thick eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes. “Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

The Cathedral’s plaza was just a little out of the way to school. She stood right at the doorway to the beautiful cathedral and found the west wall, heading out the entrance onto the street and–

Nothing. It was just a street branching onto another street. No, that’s not…right. April was not crazy. But if nothing was there… She felt defeated. Then she had an idea. She grabbed a ball that was in her bag and ran back into the plaza, tripping a little but too distracted to care. She looked around, found the west wall, and threw her ball at it. After a few failed tries, she finally got it over the wall. Then she grabbed her bag and went to the western street. Was that-? Yes! The forest was there! What was going on? A forest that only appears when you throw a ball or frisbee? Now she was worried. Was she going crazy or was this…magic? No, that would be crazy, she comforted herself. But she still approached the forest nervously. She was glad there weren’t people around to see her. Her hair stood on end again as she entered the forest. She saw several balls and frisbees, and this time she saw more objects and noticed that the forest went on for a long long time. An abnormally long time. Cordoba has an average temperature in November of 65˚ which, when combined with the lack of water, meant there wasn’t much forest. Something was in the air. It was gold, almost like dust, and it smelled like vanilla.  

“Ow!” Shouted April as she tripped and fell flat on her face. A piece of gold dust settled on her hand. It looked like a piece of gold leaf but it moved through the air like it was moving through water. She saw an odd glow in the distance. She walked towards it, careful not to trip again. She pushed aside a bush and…

It was… a small female figure about five inches tall with long golden hair that fanned out across the forest like fog. She had tan skin and was wearing a short white dress with no sleeves. A long train of white followed her. Her eyes were closed, but she was standing up. No…not standing, floating. Suddenly her eyes opened and stared right into April’s. She floated higher and came to eye level with April, who felt like she couldn’t breathe. What was happening?

“Hello. My name is Cayetana.” April rubbed her eyes. Did it just…speak? 

“H-Hello…?” April whispered slowly. 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about…” Said…Cayetana? 

“Um…can I get back to this meeting? I’m available next week.” 

Cayetena looked majestically worried. “What?” 

“I don’t think I’m really ready to discuss my impending descent into madness. Could we talk at 5:30 later today perhaps?” 

“Um…okay..?” Cayetana said, looking confused. 

“Great, bye!”

April skidadelled out of the woods. She could not handle that right now – she just ran to her school, not looking back. Did she really just postpone her meeting with a faery to after school? She’d have to tell Brooke about it and make her come with her. She couldn’t do it by herself. 

  “Brooke!!” April collided with her friend. 

“April!!!!!!! You’re back!!?” 

April had almost forgotten she had been sick. “Yeah, yeah, anyways come with me!” 

“Huh? What is it?” 

April grabbed Brooke’s pale hand and ran along the corridor to the bathroom. Thank goodness there was no one in there to eavesdrop. “Okay, Brooke, this is going to sound a little crazy but… do you remember when I lost that Frisbee and I told you about that forest?”

“You mean that one you hallucinated because you were sick?”

“No! I mean, well yes, but I went back this morning!” 

Brooke put a finger over her lips. “Shh, you’re safe now.“ 

April smacked her hand away. “No! I went back and I saw a faery!” 

“A faery?” Brooke asked. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be at school today if you’re not feeling well.” 

“Fine.” April was getting tired of explaining. It would be easier to show her. “ Come with me after school to go see it.” 

Brooke sighed. “Well, alright. I’m just worried about you. Seeing things is not a good sign, April.” 

“I’m not seeing things, Brooke! You’ll see after school.” 

They walked to class in annoyed silence.  “Bye,” April muttered.

“Bye,” said Brooke.

April’s leg was bouncing up and down at top speed all day. She was so impatient to get out of school and go to the woods that she barely focused on her class. 

Aya, a kid in April’s Spanish program whispered from behind her. “Why were you gone so long?” 

April felt even more anxious since the intensive Spanish for non-Spanish speakers class meant she couldn’t leave for lunch on Fridays. She still had hours to wait.

“I was kidnapped by faeries,” April replied, seriously. Aya laughed. 

It was almost 5 o’clock. And…the bell rang. April grabbed her stuff and headed towards the door. 

“April, come stay with me!” Said Mr. Jimenez, calling for April, who rolled her eyes in the other direction and then turned to smile at him. “We should go through your missing work–” 

“Can we please do it at a later time? I have something urgent at home.” 

“Oh, of course.” 

“Thank you so much, so sorry!” I hope my parents don’t find out about that one. 

Brooke was waiting outside the door. “That took you a while.” 

“Yeah, I got held up. Let’s go!” April almost forgot her backpack in her rush to get out of the school. She ran down the stairs while Brooke laughed. 

“Are you unironically skipping?” She said.

“You got a problem with that, fool?” April honestly just wanted to go as fast as possible. 

“Can you please explain to me where we’re going and how and why?” Brooke asked.

“It’s hard to explain, you’ll see.” She swung through the ivory pillars into the Plaza de Mezquita, then led Brooke to the middle of it. 

“What…?” Brooke asked. 

“You’ll see.” April threw the ball at the west wall and it soared over the top. Hole in one. 

“Hey, is that my ball-?” 

“It doesn’t matter!” April savagely yanked Brooke over to the west entrance of the Plaza. “Ah yes! Here it is.” April caught sight of the forest a second before Brooke, who looked over her shoulder. 

  “What…” Brooke’s eyes were as big as dinner plates. And no, not Tapas like a salad bowl. Full dinner plates – and you can quote me on that one. The forest was there. Brooke was very interested in plants and as she looked at it, she saw plants that should not have been growing in Cordoba. Plants that shouldn’t even be grown anywhere in Spain. And plants that should not be growing together. And plants that shouldn’t be growing at all. There is no way that was a Sitka Spruce, an Alaskian mega tree, growing next to a Plumeria Plant which was grown mainly in Hawaii.  And…

“April…” 

“Yes?” 

           “April, that flower right there, is a Cooksonia, the first Vascular plant we know about.”

“Oh, cool,” said April causally.

          “No April. Not cool. That plant went extinct 25 Million years ago. “

“Wait, I don’t understand…” 

  “Yeah, me either,” said Brooke. As an avid plant lover she was very confused. “April, I know you said this before, but there is something going on with these woods.”

  “See, I’m not crazy!” April laughed. 

Brooke looked down at her hands. “Am I…on drugs?”

“What, no! Are- No!” 

Brooke looked worried. “ Let’s just go,” Said April.

“No, April, stop. We’re not going into the creepy woods that aren’t always there.”

“I’ve already been in, it’s fine.“ 

April ran in and Brooke hesitantly followed her. She grabbed a Cooksonia plant on the way in and put it in her backpack. They were both in the woods now. Frisbees and small playable things suddenly emerged from the brush as they walked. 

“Whoa, you weren’t kidding about these frisbees.” 

“Yeah. I definitely was not.” April stopped. “ This is where I saw Cayetana.” 

“Do you mean Cayenne? I thought that it was grown mainly in East Africa. I didn’t know it was this far north!!” 

“No, not Cayenne! Cayetana, the faery!” 

“Wait WHAT? Kanye??” 

“It’s actually Ye. Get it right Brooke. “ April looked like Brooke should have known what she was talking about. “Y’know, that faery I told you about.” 

“Yeah, I did not believe you.”

“Hey!” Said April sadly.

“Would you have believed me if I told you I saw a fairy in mysterious fake woods that most certainly do NOT exist?” 

“Ok, fine, that’s fair.”

“Anyways, did you talk to this faery?”

“Yes, it told me its name. And it asked to talk to me.”

“Wasn’t it already talking to you?” Brooke interjected. “ Also isn’t “it” a little insulting?” 

“It- I mean she wanted to talk to me about magic, I think.” 

“And so did you?” 

“No, I told her I was free at 5:30.”

“WHAT?! You blew off a magical Cayenne faery to go to school?!”

“I didn’t want to have to deal with that!” April looked upset. “ It was too much for one poor little 14 year old to handle. Yikes!” 

“Well, what time is it?”

“5:28” So close, yet so far. 

“Um… “ Said Brooke. “What is that?” April whirled around. What was that? A small purple glow was radiating from the brush a little ways away. April ran to the spot to find a small…portal? Hole? Purple hole? It was very small, big enough for a faery to fit through but not much else. 

“April…what is that?” Said Brooke, her hand shaking. Suddenly something came out of the portal. Brooke jumped back and grabbed April covering her mouth. April objected but Brooke pulled her behind a bush. 

“What did you do that for?” 

“We don’t know what that thing is!” Exclaimed Brooke who looked frightened and worried. 

“It’s a faery! What can it do!” 

“Well lemme tell you something it can do: hear you! Shut up!” Brooke covered her mouth again. Then they heard another voice.

  “Ugh, where are they?” Said a disgruntled voice. 

“They’re here. Behind that bush.” Said a calm and deep voice. Brooke and April looked at eachother, eyes wide. “Come over here, you two. There’s nothing to be scared of.” 

“That sounds very suspicious,” said Brooke. 

April rolled her eyes and stood up. “Hi there!” 

“April!” Yelled Brooke. “ We’re being subtle.” 

“By hiding behind a bush?”

“Yes.” They both looked around and then at the two figures floating in the air in front of them.

 “Wow,” Said Brooke. 

The first one had tan freckle-covered skin, and the most fabulous hair. It looked like her head was on fire. She was wearing a short orange and red dress with a large fiery skirt that fanned around her. She had two wings on her back which looked like stained glass. They seemed to be decorated with an animation of her fighting a fire-breathing dragon. The wings barely moved, but somehow were always moving. 

“Oh my god,” said Brooke. 

The other one was the complete opposite. Her long blue hair looked like a cascading waterfall which dripped to the ground. Her skin was smooth and dark. She was wearing what seemed to be a blue romper which looked like a blue leaf with veins, but sparkled with large water droplets. It had a belt which looked like a rain cloud. Her wings were also stained glass with water droplets animated.

“Hello there?” She asked. “My name is Dew.”

“Hi, Dew.” 

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

The Brief But Extraordinary Life of Stevie Dreger

Trigger warning: suicide

Stevie Dreger was the first friend I ever lost. He was also the last person in the world I would have expected to kill himself. But regardless of any previous premonitions anyone held to him, on that beautiful August day he still walked himself and his beat-up red chucks onto the bridge that connects Shelburne and Buckland and returned himself to the earth.  Stevie used to tell me that he didn’t belong to anyone. He told me that one day 16 years ago, the various elements of the earth came together to form one imperfect being: himself. He never explained why; he just knew. 

Stevie left notes before he died. He left notes to everyone in his life that he loved, or rather, everyone in his life that would want an explanation. He left notes for everyone he knew would be unsatisfied with simplicity. The simple fact that he was done with living. Not because he was depressed or angry at what the world had or had not handed to him, but because he had done everything he had wanted to do. For years after the fact, I was angry at him for that, but I knew the real reason I was mad at him. The most selfless person I had ever known had gone and done the most selfish thing anyone can do: deprive you of their presence. If the dead can be selfish, maybe they are more alive than we think they are. My anger made him real; more than a pile of dust secure in an ugly vase.

For me, Stevie left a checklist. A wrinkled piece of a legal pad, with five items listed on it. I spent night after night trying to decipher what it meant until I came to a conclusion. They were the five things Stevie wanted to do with his life. By each item was a check mark, written in thick black ink. 

There were bystanders on the bridge the day Stevie died. A couple in a blue sedan pulled over as he swung a leg over the railing of the bridge. They said later that as he saw them sprinting in his direction he flashed his crooked smile and waved as he dove into the water, releasing a breath. 

Along with the notes, Stevie left a very detailed description of exactly what his funeral would look like. He wrote that under no circumstances whatsoever was anyone to wear black. He also described how he would like his coffin to be brought down the aisle, with a rendition of Prince’s “Purple Rain” playing in the background. We used to listen to “Purple Rain” on repeat after school sometimes. We would be in Stevie’s room, surrounded by posters of Bowie and Mick Jagger, reading or procrastinating on our homework. After a while of listening to it over and over again, Stevie declared it his favorite song of all time. He had determined that no matter how many times he listened to it, his ears were never bored.

And so there I sat, in my mid-length yellow frock and white sandals, in the chapel of the Immaculate Conception Church, watching the pallbearers in their sky blue suits carry half of my heart in a box down the aisle, tears soaking my handkerchief. I half expected him to open the casket, jump out, and have a laugh. 

Stevie was a Catholic, and a devoted one.  He didn’t believe in the religious aspect of it, the “God crap” as he so eloquently put it, but still, every Sunday there he was, his blonde curls pushed back, his tie loose on his neck, staring ever so intensely at the priest as he gave his sermon. I asked him once why he went if he didn’t believe any of it. We were lying in a field of dandelions, lying in the opposite directions of each other so our faces were side by side. He didn’t respond to the question at first. Instead, he picked a dandelion, uprooted it from the earth, and pushed my hair behind my ear. He wrapped the stem of the flower around the back of my ear so the pretty part would stick out from my hair. He turned his head and grinned as he told me he went because he loved to observe. Watching hundreds of people give up their time to worship something that he didn’t even believe existed was fascinating to him. He liked all of the old ladies sitting in the pews who always turned around to shake his hand. He liked that they always asked how he was doing, how his mother was and if he had a girlfriend. 

I remember after the memorial service my family piled into our beat up white station wagon and drove over to the Dregers. Their brownstone stood at the end of Aster Street, three down from ours. The house looked like it had lost color; the already dull brown bricks looked sadder somehow. I remember their entire living room was crowded, not with family or loved ones, but with lillies. I remember the smell and how it smacked me in the face when I entered the foyer. I had to squeeze onto the couch between Stevie’s little sister and an assortment of colored lilies, each with their own crinkly plastic wrapping and obnoxious ribbon. They were ugly. Plain and ugly. And Stevie was none of those things. 

A few months after Stevie died, I went to visit him at the Delphinium St. Cemetery. His headstone had just been finished, a pile of fresh soil surrounded it. Engraved on the stone was his full name: Steven George Dreger, beloved son, brother, and friend. Words that did not hold a candle to all that he was. It was December, and in classic New England fashion, snow piled up everywhere. Stevie’s mother had made sure that his headstone was untouched by anything that could damage it; I had heard from Ms. Richards down the street that his mother had visited the cemetery every evening since the day of his funeral. I brushed the freshly fallen snow off the top of the stone and sat. The snow soaked through my corduroys but I didn’t care. 

Surrounding his stone were the putrid lilies that had been at his funeral. I turned my head to avoid the smell. Blended with the lillies was baby’s breath, a somewhat mediocre flower. The arrangement was less than beautiful, so I unwrapped the plastic and rearranged the flowers in a more suitable manner. Still, the bouquet was not perfect. I tried again. And again. At last, I gave up and left the flowers in a pile, the plastic wrapping crinkling in the wind. I stomped out of the cemetery in a fury, unsatisfied with the flowers, unsatisfied with their state of ugliness. Disgruntled, I stormed over to the florist, Mr. Beau, to demand that he make something better. Although Mr. Beau had nothing to do with my dislike of lilies and their putridity, off I went.

Freshman year of high school, Stevie and I went out for a while – only for about a month or so, and it didn’t work out the way we thought it would. Stevie’s stubbornness to reveal anything about his emotions led to our eventual breakup. Or maybe it had been my lack of, well, desire to be in a relationship with anyone. The true cause of our romantic downfall was never found, because two weeks later, his father was in the ICU for a heart attack. Every hole we had stabbed in the very fabric of our relationship was patched. I had been sitting in the lobby of the ICU, Stevie asleep on my shoulder, for three hours before the doctor came out to give us the news. His father was stable, or as stable as can be after a heart attack. Stevie collapsed on the floor in sobs of relief. That was the first time I ever saw him cry. 

Mr. Beau called me on New Year’s Eve.  I was watching Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve 1985 regardless of how much pain it caused me; Stevie used to love to watch the ball drop. Mr. Beau had called to offer me a job at the flower shop after I had given him a lecture on the importance of flower fragrance. He figured that he would rather have a motivated employee than a disgruntled customer. I started work there in the New Year, after winter break. The store was always humid because we had to keep the flowers warm in the winter. Nobody wants a dead flower. 

After Stevie’s father’s heart attack, our relationship went almost back to normal. We still hung out after school every day, had dinner at each other’s houses and whatnot, but I don’t think Stevie ever looked at me the same way. Sometimes I would catch him staring in my direction, his head tilted to the side, his blonde curls falling across his face. “What?” I would say. “Is there something on my face?”. He would look at me in a way words cannot describe and shake his head. 

By March, the flower shop had doubled its profits. Mr. Beau was so satisfied with my work that he gave me a 20% pay raise. I could anticipate the needs of every single person that entered the shop just with one look. A young woman in her mid-twenties with freshly manicured nails: a bride in need of a bulk order of roses. A small boy with a collared shirt and blue jeans, hair parted to the side: flowers for his grandmother. A middle aged fat man with a receding hairline: a late present for an anniversary forgotten. I would obsess over the orders, picturing the event in my head and letting my hands do the rest of the work. I watched each of the people walk out of the store, taking in the bouquet I had presented them with, feeling like I had done good work. But I also felt unfulfilled, like there was something missing. Like those people walked out with a bit of me. The bouquets were good, but not good enough – for me, or maybe for Stevie. 

I started working overtime in the shop when school ended in May. I had the summer off before college, no internships or extra work that had to be done. I found myself on the stool for hours at a time, forming bouquets for nobody in particular. Customers were rare in the summer, as most people were off at the Cape for the season. While Mr. Beau was on vacation, I moved the lily stand to the back of the store. I couldn’t bear the smell. The days stretched into nights as I put together a million combinations of flowers together. I hadn’t brought any of my flowers to Stevie, it never seemed right. 

The obsession grew into something bigger as the summer drew on. I placed orders for more varieties of flowers we could buy for the shop, more combinations that were beautiful, but not Stevie’s beautiful. It reached a point at which I was using so many flowers and wasting them on unsellable bouquets, that Mr. Beau had no choice but to fire me. I was completely devastated, I couldn’t sleep for days, images of multicolored daisies and violets floated in front of me. I felt incomplete.

The day before Stevie died, he called me. He wanted to know if I liked Italian Wedding Soup. I told him I had never tried it before, so three minutes later, there he was, outside my door holding a container of his mother’s homemade Italian Wedding Soup. I poured myself a serving and sat down with him in the breakfast nook. The sun reflecting off of his golden locks was almost blinding. He squinted his eyes intensely as I took a sip. It was delicious. I smiled at him and told him that it was the best soup I had ever had the pleasure of tasting. He nodded in satisfaction and told me that this was the last piece of information that he would ever need to know about me. I never understood the gravity of those words until he was gone. 

Stevie never got his perfect bouquet. It was never going to be right. Everything beautiful about Stevie had died with him. But I forgave myself for what I had done. Maybe if I had been a little uglier, or if my hair had been shorter, or if my nose scrunched up at an odd angle when I was thinking, maybe then he wouldn’t have fallen in love with me and maybe then I wouldn’t have been the last task on his list. Because stuffed in the back drawer of my bedroom on Aster Street are the words that completed the short but vivacious life of Stevie Dreger. Stevie used to say that he didn’t belong to anyone, and maybe he didn’t, but as sure as the blue of the sky and the swiftness of the wind moving through the trees, I belonged to him. 

Bat Mitzvah

I remember arriving, and thinking everything looked picture perfect.

I remember it was dark, but at the same time very bright. 

I remember demanding that my friends were called by their nicknames. 

I remember when my friend made a weird pose in the photo. 

I remember being partners with my brother for every game. 

I remember my friends running around stealing each other’s phones.

I remember when everybody got a question wrong on trivia, except for my brother and his friends.

I remember how happy my 8 year old cousin was.

I remember the lanterns hanging from the ceiling in all the different colors of the rainbow.

I remember my hair, braided up in a bun with tiny clay flowers sticking out. 

I remember the flowers falling out of my hair all night.

I remember my dress, black with multicolored sparkles. 

I remember my dress getting glitter everywhere. 

I remember my shoes, white sneakers with an ombre rainbow and stars.

I remember my nails, a light lavender color.

I remember my mask, a splotchy rainbow watercolor. 

I remember my makeup, how it matched my features really nicely.

I remember standing there, while everyone watched me, but I wasn’t even nervous because

I knew I could do it. 

I remember being terrified when they lifted me up in the chair.

I remember the sheer shock when my friends threw candy at me. 

I remember the crazy face my 4 year old cousin made during family photos. 

I remember playing games where I had to sit on the floor and how I was trying so hard to keep my dress down.

I remember how good the food tasted, especially the pancakes. 

I remember feeling like a camera was on me at all times. 

I remember being a lot less nervous than I expected. 

I remember forgetting everything as soon as I finished. 

I remember people spelling my name wrong.

I remember there being family members I didn’t even know. 

I remember taking photos at the photo booth. 

I remember me and a couple of my friends getting excited at certain songs. 

I remember my little cousin copying everything I did, including hugging my friend who she had never met before.  

I remember my dress getting glitter everywhere.

I remember it being so colorful. 

I remember my friend’s little siblings standing on the couch and fighting each other. 

I remember the sigh of relief when it was over. 

And of course I remember more than anything, all the things I wish I had done, all the people I didn’t invite, and all the things I wish I hadn’t done.

The Field of Sorrow

Editor’s Note: This is a wonderfully creepy story that may be scary for some younger readers.

As the pair approached the field, they sighed in relief. “Ugh,” Olivia sighed. “I wish I could use one of the self-driving robots. I can’t believe that your mom is forcing us to walk home.”

“I know,” Emily replied. “I wish that she allowed us to ride.”

Olivia didn’t reply. She was thinking about her parents, who had died in a fire 3 years ago. She remembered her mom’s caring smile and her dad’s gruff but tender voice. She missed them so much. She wished that Emily had not gotten cyborg implants. It separated them in a way because cyborgs tended to always stick to other cyborgs. Their friendship was growing tense.

Suddenly, she felt apprehension creeping up her spine, like the claws of a cat.

“Does something… feel weird?”

“Yeah, I dunno, I feel… uneasy.”

Then, the smell struck them. It was a horrendous stench. It smelled like spoiled milk mixed with rotten meat.

“What is that?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know,” Emily replied.

“Should we check it out?”

“Yeah!”

“What if it’s dangerous?”

“Come on, don’t be a wimp. Race you!”

“Fine!”

As the girls charged through the underbrush, Olivia couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was about to go horribly wrong. As the pair reached where the smell originated from, however, they realized that they had made the worst mistake of their lives.

It was a body and a rotting one. It had been beaten to a pulp and had multiple seemingly recent stab wounds on its chest.

Olivia gasped. “Who could do such a thing?”

“I could,” a deep voice that sounded like scraping nails on a chalkboard said. 

Too late, Olivia felt eyes burning on her back. She turned around slowly. 

There was a man with cyborg legs and a cyborg eye. He was tall and had icy blue eyes. He was wearing a long black coat and a hat, yet the girls could clearly see a psychopathic smile on his scar-riddled face.

“Hello girls,” the man said. “I’ve been waiting for you. You are going home, correct?”

The girls shakily nodded.

The man tutted. “Oh well. I guess we will take… an alternative route.”

He lunged at Olivia, and everything went black. 

***

They woke up chained to plastic walls in what seemed like a sort of dungeon. Their captor was in front of them, wearing what seemed like a 1600s plague doctor suit.

“I apologize for bringing you here like that. I just needed some… subjects for my experiments.”

Olivia tried to scream, but she was gagged. For the first time, she noticed a horrifying sight. There was a dastardly display of several different metal… tools. They all looked incredibly painful. 

Their captor went on. “I have some tools for these experiments, as you have probably noticed. Those will be used if you misbehave. You may call me Doctor Anubis.”

He ungagged them both, and immediately they both tried to scream. 

“Ahhhh, nice try. I’ve put an implant in your throats that prohibits you from screaming. Don’t worry, you can still talk.”

Emily immediately spoke. “How dare you do this, you sick, demented, demon! Do you know who I am?”

“Why yes I do, little lady,” Doctor Anubis said. “I simply do not care.”

“Wha-what?” Emily sputtered.

“Well, you see, it’s not about who has the most riches or power. It’s about who makes the best… subjects.” With that, he turned and dug a sharp, straight tool straight into Olivia’s stomach. She gasped and passed out.

***

Groggily, she raised her head and looked down. Nothing seemed to be wrong, but her chest had crisscrossing scars across it. 

“I have been working on this for ten years, since 2040, and I have never had results like this before.” The man pulled out a high-tech tablet. He showed her grisly images of his “failed experiments.” 

“You’re horrible! Why would you torture innocent people?” Olivia said. 

“For the experiment. I have told you this before. Next time you ask, I will beat you.”

“Y-yes sir,” Olivia whimpered.

“Good. Now for you, Emily. Let’s see your… potential.”

“Nooo! Please! I’ll give you money! Have mercy!” Emily pleaded.

“There is no mercy.” 

With that, Doctor Anubis plunged his tool into Emily’s stomach. He sliced around horribly, digging around her intestines for what seemed like hours. Finally, he seemed satisfied. He sent a robot over, and within a few minutes, Emily was awake. She looked up groggily, then noticed the scars on her stomach.

“How dare you do this to me!” she yelled. “I will have your skin when we get out of this!”

“The problem with that,” Doctor Anubis said, “is that you won’t get out.”

There was a long, tense silence.

“I have a question,” Olivia said. “What is this ‘experiment?’”

“Good question. I am trying to link people’s consciousness together with an interface which I control.” Doctor Anubis said. “That way I can force people to give me their money and property, and as a bonus, I will have unlimited subjects.” 

The girls sat there in silence.

“Well, that was a successful day! Sleep now!” 

He turned off the lights and walked out of the room.

“That guy is a psychopath,” Emily said. “We need a way to escape.”

“But how?” Olivia replied.

“We wait until we can get one of his tools, cut our chains, then stab him.”

“I don’t want to go through another minute of that torture!”

“You have to.”

Olivia thought for a while. Why is this man so horrible? She wished that there was a better way to get out of this situation, but she couldn’t see another way out besides Emily’s way. Maybe, if she did die, she would be able to see her parents again. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Doctor Anubis probed their brains, apparently trying to connect them. He continued probing them for the next few days until he seemed satisfied. He only fed them disgusting mush, and never untied them. However, one day, Doctor Anubis seemed to get cocky. He left his tools in reach of Emily and walked off. After she had waited a few minutes to make sure that the doctor was gone, she grabbed the tools and sliced herself free. She immediately went over to Olivia and cut her free as well, using her cyborg arm.

“We need to go!” Emily hissed. They snuck forward, and Emily picked the lock of the door with one of Anubis’s tools. As they emerged for the first time from their room, they realized that they had made a massive mistake.

“You fools!” Doctor Anubis’s voice boomed. “You thought you could escape me! Fine. You will provide some nice field testing for my project. Project Intuitio, activate!”

All of a sudden, Olivia felt a massive pain in her cranium, like a rabid gerbil was trying to escape from her skull. She looked over at Emily, and it seemed that she was dealing with the pain as well. She had also dropped Anubis’s tool. Olivia tried to scream, but the implant blocked her. 

Doctor Anubis walked towards them. “I see the project is working. Good. Any second you will be connected to my interface, and you will be my slaves.” 

All of a sudden, Olivia felt a sudden urge to go to the Doctor’s side and obey his every command. She gritted her teeth in order to try and resist the Doctor’s commands. It took all of her willpower to resist, but she was able to do it. She looked over at Emily, and it seemed that she was able to resist Doctor Anubis’s commands more easily, due to her half-cyborg body.

“Fine. I suppose I will just kill you. Murderbots, kill this scum!”

Instantly, 3 robots popped out of the walls. Large spears and swords popped out of the robots, and they moved threateningly towards the pair. 

“We need to go!” Olivia shouted. She looked towards the only open exit, a door that was slightly ajar. “We need to get through that,” Olivia hissed

“Ok. How do we do that?” Emily replied.

“We run.” They both took off at a full sprint, rushing towards the door, but they were intercepted at the door by a murder-bot.

“Run! I’ll hold it off!” Emily sprung into action, delivering a quick roundhouse kick to the robot’s face with her cyborg foot. The robot seemed unfazed and delivered a punch into Emily’s gut. Emily grunted and looked over at Olivia, who was standing there, frozen. 

“Run!” she croaked out.

Olivia seemed to unfreeze and sprinted out the door. She could hear a murder-bot sprinting behind her. She looked back as she ran, just in time to see the murder-bot skewer Olivia in the chest with its spear. Emily was gone. Olivia sprinted out an unlocked door, right into the same field where they were abducted. Stricken with grief, glad to feel the sunlight on her face, the feeling of grass under her feet, and the sound of chirping of birds one last time as the murder-bot caught up to her and stabbed her in the back. She collapsed, full of grief and sorrow, as everything slowly went black.

The Witch Girl

I’m watching my best friend get pinned down by a ghost. Maybe if Mom had listened to me, this wouldn’t be happening.

But we can’t just start here, can we?

My name is Miriam. I’m thirteen years old, and my mom is a witch.

A witch, you ask?

Well, just take a peek at my basement and you’ll be sure. It’s chock-full of glass bottles, magic powders, random dangerous liquids, and a witch’s ensemble — hat, broomstick, purple robes, etc. And to top it all off, her black cat Coco who weaves around my legs.

I’ve been begging her to teach me her witchcraft since I was 5 and discovered her secret, but she refuses to teach me. And she won’t tell me why.

Am I not good enough to be a witch? I always try to shake these thoughts from my head.

But let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

It was the middle of June. I was excited to be staying over at my friend Tat’s place for an hour. I biked over to her house, which was only a few blocks away. It was a very bright yellow color.

We talked for a few minutes, and then pulled out our art supplies: a big sheet of blank paper, wide paintbrushes, and paints in every color.

“Oh, Rayne,” I sighed when I used a brown I had mistaken for orange. It messed up my rainbow. 

“What does that mean, anyway?” asked Tat curiously. “I’ve heard you say it before.”

I grinned guiltily. “I’m not sure. I’ve just heard Mom use it so much that I say it without thinking. She’s never told me to stop, anyway.”

We eventually finished the painting and hung it up in Tat’s room. The walls were already covered in art that we had made together, but this filled up the last blank wall. Her room was a riot of color, with a rainbow blanket on her bed and a fish tank full of iridescent sea snails.

We then played games, and before I knew it, it was time to go home. I waved goodbye to Tat and then biked home.

When I opened the door to my house, my eyes widened. The living room looked like someone had been playing ping-pong, but the balls were dripping paint. Everything was covered in color.

“Mom?!” I called.

“Yeah?” said my mom from the basement.

“You better come see this,” I called.

“In a moment, Miri,” she said absently, using her nickname for me.

“No, seriously! The living room is messed up!”

She walked up the basement stairs and then stopped in surprise. “What in the name of Rayne happened?” she asked when she saw the mess.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just got back!”

“I know, Miri,” she said. Her eyes seemed to glow. “Are you okay? Is Nessie okay?”

“I’ll go check on her,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Coco followed me up the stairs, and I opened the door to my little sister’s room. “Hey, Ness — Oh Rayne!” I couldn’t believe it. My sister Nessie’s room was covered in paint as well! I checked her bed. She wasn’t there.

“She’s not here,” I called. “Ness, you little rascal! Did you paint all of this?”

“Miriam, please come down here,” Mom called.

“Why?” I asked. “What about my room — gah!”

Coco pushed me down the stairs. My arms pinwheeled as I tried to keep my balance, but in the end, I tumbled down the steps. I rolled onto the paint-covered floor, groaning.

“Ugh… Bad kitty,” I grumbled. Coco carefully stepped around me, heading over to my mom. I carefully stood up, and then looked down at my clothes and arms. I was absolutely covered in paint.

“Rayne!” I yelled to the sky. Then I turned to the culprit. “Coco! Now I have to clean my shirt up!”

“No, Miri,” said Mom. “There’s no time for that. Besides, it will protect you.”

“What do you mean?! What in Rayne is this mess, anyway?!” I yelled, looking at the bucket’s worth of paint covering our living room.

“A ghost’s mark, Mir.”

I stopped cold. “A… A what?”

“A ghost.”

I laughed nervously. “Um… You know ghosts aren’t real, right?”

Mom sighed. “Neither are witches, Mir. Neither are witches.” She seemed to be losing focus.

The room seemed to be getting colder as well. “Where’s Ness?” I asked with a strange sense of dread.

Mom snapped back into awareness with a jerk of her head. The room suddenly seemed warm and cozy again. “Right. Nessie. I’ll track her.” Her eyes glowed violet. “This way.” She stepped out the door, Coco following behind her. I hurriedly put on my shoes and half jogged, half walked over to her. 

“Mom,” I said, “where are we going?”

She glanced at me. “To find the ghost who took Nessie, of course. She’s not in any immediate danger, but it is critical to find her as soon as possible.”

“The ghost took Nessie?” This was getting more far-fetched by the moment. “Are you sure?”

“Miri,” said Mom. “Who do you think knows more about ghosts? You or me?”

“Well… you, I suppose,” I grumbled. Then, in a sudden outburst, I said, “But maybe if you had just taught me to be a witch, I would know a little something about ghosts too!”

She glanced at me, her eyes cold. “For the thousandth time, you are not ready to be a witch, Miriam.” The comment stung. Was I really not ready? Then she looked ahead. “The ghost is in here.”

We had stopped in front of a very familiar yellow house. “Mom,” I warned, “this is Tat’s house.”

Her eyes glowed crimson, and she reached into the pocket of her coat. From her pocket, she pulled out perhaps 100 small metal spheres. They seemed to be linked to each other somehow. She handed them to me, and I peered down at them.

At a closer look, it was a net. Tiny metal threads connected every sphere in a 10 by 10 grid. The threads seemed to have a golden sheen. “What is it?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from the net. “Why are we here? Can you tell me anything about what we’re doing or what a ghost is?”

“Of course, Miri,” said Mom. “To start, you need to know that witchcraft is not a culture. It is a race, a birthright. Even if you turn away from the path of witching, you will still have the magic in you.” She stroked Coco. “Everyone in the world has a little bit of witch magic, but in most people, it’s very weak. The families with the most potent magic all trace back to Rayne and her daughters.”

“Who’s Rayne?” I pulled myself up and sat on the mailbox.

“The goddess of witchcraft. She had eight mortal daughters, seven of them good and one of them evil. We are descended from Beryl, the eldest good daughter. We have strong witch blood.”

“Okay…” I was getting a little lost.

“However, one can only start using their witch magic when they unlock the true potential of their creativity. This is why most people never manage it. Roald Dahl and Mozart unlocked theirs, as did Picasso.” She traced shapes in the air. “Of course, most people who unlocked their magic never actually knew they had it — it was just infused into everything they did.”

“How do I unlock my witch magic?” I asked, hopping off the mailbox.

Mom sighed wearily. “Everyone does it differently. But it always happens through their passion. Music. Architecture. Scientific discoveries. Anything, really. But you have to fully recognize it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll understand once it happens to you. I can’t tell you how to understand your magic, though, because for everyone it’s unique.”

“Oh…” I said, somewhat crestfallen. Now I was worried I wasn’t going to be able to unlock my magic. “Well, tell me more about the ghost.”

“Ghosts are spirits. People who pass away can still stay anchored to this world by something called a talisman. It is a magical item. If you destroy the talisman, the ghost will leave this world and pass on to the next. Most ghosts aren’t malignant, however. I would bet that the ghost who kidnapped Nessie had a child in life, and they wanted to recreate that memory.”

I was still a little uncertain. “Wouldn’t it be… mean? To destroy a ghost? Isn’t that like destroying a person?”

“We are not destroying a talisman, just as we are not destroying the ghost.”

“What are we doing, then?” I was under the assumption that we would banish them somewhere… magic. I was reminded of how little I knew about the witch world.

“We are sending the ghost to the afterlife so that they can be released. We are freeing them.”

“Okay!” I glanced at the house, and my energy faded. “But this is Tat’s house. We can’t just… sneak in here, or whatever.”

Mom snorted. “There is no we. I’m going in, you are staying out.”

“What?!” I cried. “Then why did you give me this?!” I shook the golden net in front of her face.

“To defend yourself if the ghost decides to leave,” said Mom. “Why don’t you play with Tat for a few minutes while I deal with the ghost.”

“Okay!” I said, a little incredulously. “I am going to be having a playdate with Tat while you track down a ghost in the same house. That’s just great.” I looked up, and to my dismay, Mom was already ringing the doorbell. “Wait!” I yelled, just as the door opened. Tat’s mom was at the door.

Tat’s mom ushered me in.

“This is so cool!” said Tat, who was inside. “Let’s play a game!” I followed her, feeling sick and useless.

We went up to her room, where she pulled out some cards. I was focusing on what Mom had told me so much that I was barely paying attention to the game. After I had lost four times in a row, Tat frowned.

“You okay, Miri?” she asked. “You seem a little distracted. Are you cold?” She shivered. “I gotta ask mom to turn up the heater. It’s absolutely freezing here.”

“Now that you mention it…” It was really cold. “Um… Tat?”

“Yeah,” she asked absently.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“No,” she said, looking up. “They’re just stories invented to make children go to bed.”

The lights flickered on and off. I looked up nervously. “Well, maybe you should start believing in them.”

The room seemed to be darkening. My hands were shaking a little as I pulled out my net, looking around the room anxiously. My fear seemed to transfer to Tat, who looked a little nervous. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. She was glancing back and forth, and then looked at my net. “What’s that?”

The lights turned off. The window, which should have been letting sunlight into the room, seemed almost muffled. It was nearly completely black.

Light, I thought. I need light. I wasn’t sure how to make light, though. I looked around the room, noticing Tat’s glow-in-the-dark paints.

“Mind if I spill these?” I asked before opening the cap.

“I can’t see you, Miri,” Tat said, sounding scared. “Where are you?”

The green paint inside the bottle glowed faintly. In the dim light, I could see Tat to my left. “Here,” I said, throwing the paint over her. I had remembered Mom saying that if we were covered in paint, it would protect us.

“Gyah!” she yelled. She spat some glowing green paint out of her mouth. “Miri, what was that for?!”

“Do you want to be attacked by a ghost, or what?” Despite the tone of command in my voice, I was terrified. “Look, just don’t move.”

The ghost was here, I knew it. I held up the net, which I realized was glowing dimly. As I watched, some of the darkness seemed to solidify, taking shape as a person, almost. I shivered.

As I looked closer, I realized that it was a woman. She looked at me for a moment, and then turned away, seeming to lose interest. Tat stared at it, and I got the feeling that she could see it too.

I stood there for what seemed like hours. Tat stood as still as she could, shivering and covered in paint. I stood with my net in my hand, trying to pretend I was invisible. The ghost kept going back to the paintings we had put on the walls. It peeled the one we had done that morning from the wall, staring at it. Then, after a moment, the paper disintegrated in its hands.

I exchanged a terrified glance with Tat.

I saw the ghost glide up above Tat’s bed, and then it picked up Tat’s favorite, one that she had framed. The painting depicted shades of blue and pink, brushed almost carelessly all over the page. In the middle, there was a golden owl.

The painting disintegrated. Tiny colorful pieces floated down to the floor.

“Eep!”

The sound had come from Tat. She was shaking in anger. I shook my head at her, but she clenched her paint-covered fists and…

“Why did you do that?!” she yelled at the ghost. “That was my favorite. I worked really hard on it!”

The ghost stopped. It slowly turned around to face Tat.

Mine.

I heard it talk, but it sounded muffled. The single word seemed to echo around the room.

Suddenly, the ghost sprang forward. Tat let out a little yelp and then was bowled over by the ghost. Mine, it said again, Mine!

And… that’s where I am now.

Maybe if Mom had listened to me, this wouldn’t be happening, I think bitterly. Then reality takes hold. My best friend is being attacked by a ghost, and I’m standing here blaming my mom for not wanting me to get hurt. I have to do something.

What can I do? I look around the room. My eye falls upon the glow-in-the-dark paint again. There are still three bottles left. I grab them, screw open one of the caps, and toss the pink paint over the ghost. Then I repeat it with the yellow. The ghost keeps running its fingers over the glowing ooze — who knew ghosts were interested in glow paint? I try to open the orange, but the cap is stuck. 

I toss it aside and hoist my golden net. I hurl it at the ghost, and… it passes right through! What? Mom said this was a weapon!

My eyes widen as it passes right through Tat, too. It hits the glowing paint on the floor and glows a little stronger.

I snatch it out from under them, and an idea hits me. If it got stronger when it touched the paint, then maybe…

I brush it across the paint-covered walls, but nothing happens. In a desperate attempt, I grab my paintbrush and cover it in gold paint.

Golden light flares up all over it. I almost drop it in surprise and then blink a few times to get used to the light. However, a few seconds later, it goes dim again.

I splash more paint on it, every color of the rainbow. The ghost turns its attention to me.

I need a distraction, I realize. Maybe… I picture the golden owl that was the centerpiece of the disintegrated painting, and a similar golden owl flies out of the net. It seems to be made of golden sparkles, somehow. It flies at the ghost and pecks at it furiously. The ghost tries to shoo it away, and when that doesn’t work, it tackles the owl.

I cover the net in more paint, and the ghost shies away from its light. Then, it turns around abruptly, and I realize that Tat is whacking it with a blue-covered paintbrush.

“Stall!” I yell at her. Because, in the end, we’re just stalling for Mom to destroy the talisman. She had said that it would take no more than fifteen minutes. How long has it been? I try to run the minutes through my head as I brandish the net. Thirteen? Fourteen?

I throw the glowing net. Once again it passes through the ghost, and it shies away from the light.

“Rayne!” I yell as I watch my weapon fall to the floor. I need more things like the owl. More distractions. I dive for the net, and everything seems to slow down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tat dump her glitter paint all over the ghost and jump for the net. I see the net about to make contact with my hand, and the ghost about to jump on me.

Just as its shadowy fingers reach my back, Tat and I touch the net and an explosion of glittery rainbow moths flit out of the glowing weapon.

The ghost falls back, confronted by the moths. It then stops. The paint, magic, liquid light, and darkness covering it seem to melt away, leaving only the faint silvery form of a woman. She looks at us as tiny sterling flecks float off of her body. She seems a little puzzled as she dissolves into thin air. The lights turn back on. The room gets warm again. I look around. We’re both covered in paint, two paintings are missing, and there are paintbrushes and paint all over the floor.

“Mom!” we both call.

Both of our moms rush up the stairs to Tat’s room. “I destroyed the talisman,” says Mom, who is carrying Nessie and is quite breathless. “But I didn’t find…” She stops in shock. “Did you guys fight the ghost?”

I run over to her. “Yeah,” I sob. “Scariest thing ever.”

“There’s a good explanation for all this,” moans Tat, before looking her mom up and down. “What are you wearing?” Her mom is in yellow robes with a pointed hat and shoes.

Mom smiles. “Both Juliette and I are witches.” Both Tat and I look at her mom with new respect. 

“Witches?” breathes Tat.

“I’m sure you and Tat will be, too. After all, Tat and Juliette are descended from Lazuli, the youngest good daughter of Rayne.”

“Mom, the net was weird. It glowed and moths and an owl came out,” I say while hugging her.

Mom looks at me. “That’s not the net, Miri. That’s your magic.”

“Magic?” I’m excited despite my ordeal. “But… I thought that I wasn’t gonna get to be a witch!”

“Why would you think that?” asks Mom.

“Well,” I say, looking down a little. “You always said that I wasn’t ready to be a witch, but…” I don’t say what I am thinking: I’m not good enough to be a witch. It seems embarrassing to admit.

Luckily, Mom seems to read my mind. “Miri,” she says, “You are going to be the best witch ever.”

***

I stand in the basement, staring at the assortment of broomsticks in front of me. There are long ones, child-size ones, fluffy ones, and straw-tipped ones.

I glance over at a dark hickory broom with a horsehair tip. It seems right. I smile as I run my hand down the staff and then yelp as it lets off a small shock.

“That’s the one?” asks Mom, who is standing to my right.

I shake my hand out, wincing a little. “Well, it just shocked me. Is that good or bad?”

A small smile touches my mom’s face. “Looks like that’s the one.”

I pick up the broomstick, smiling as I realized it looks like a giant paintbrush. Then I look at the hand mirror my mom is holding up to me. I am glowing gold a little, I realize. I hold my net in one hand and the broom in the other, and finally feet like a real witch in my tye-dye shirt and black pants. The golden owl swoops around me, landing on my shoulder.

This is it, I think. I’m a witch now. I realize I am beaming with pride and pleasure.

“Well,” says my mom, grinning just as widely. “Let’s get witching!”

Gateway to Heaven

My heart was pounding as I peeked past the haybale to the crowd across the dirt road. I had never before seen this many demons gathered in the countryside. Was I safe? I wished profoundly that I was with my parents in the human world. The world where humans were at the top of the food chain. The world where I didn’t have to worry about being hunted down. The largest of the demons turned toward me, and I quickly ducked behind the hay bale. I peeked past the edge to see his back turned on me. I tried not to gag as the horrendous stench of human blood hit me. No doubt the demons were hungry.

“I heard there were humans hiding in these places. I can smell one nearby. Tonight, we hunt. We smell. We look. We will bring the best quality meat home. At midnight we go. We do not stop until dawn.” There were cheers. “We have families to feed,” he continued. “So do not be late.” 

Humans have families too, I thought. Humans have lives. Humans have feelings.

The crowd slowly began to thin out. Eventually, there was no one left. Only the acres of farmland I was tired of seeing. When I got to the old barn, the sun was getting low in the sky. There was not much time to run. There wouldn’t be many places to hide if I fled now. I had to stay and hope that our hiding spot was good enough. 

I brushed back the hay and opened the cellar door. I tossed down the ears of corn I had harvested. I climbed in, shut the door, and began climbing down the rusty old ladder. “Emma?” I called. “Emma?”

“I’m here,” replied a small voice. I felt my feet touch the bottom and rushed to greet Emma. “Why were you gone so long?” She saw the worried look on my face. “Is everything alright, Layla?” 

“Everything is fine.” I smiled at her. “I brought food.” Emma smiled at me with a missing tooth.

“It’s not potatoes again, right? You promised.”

“It isn’t potatoes. Promise.” I whipped out the ears of corn. She grinned. 

“Corn!” I forced a smile back and worked on peeling off the husks. I handed her two and kept two for myself. After dinner, I put out the old lantern and made a pile of hay for us to sleep on. 

As we lay there in the darkness, I couldn’t help but think that we would be dead in a few hours. I thought of that day when we were shipped off into the demon world. When a cloaked figure had snatched us up and stuffed us into a wooden crate. I had felt a jolt when the figure picked us up. He had set us down on a vibrating surface. I’d peeked through the crack and found that it was the back of a truck. We’d driven for hours, and the whole time, I had tried to break out. The wood had weakened. It had creaked. And eventually, I had made a hole big enough for the both of us. We had crawled out and I waited for the truck to come to a stop. Then, I’d lifted the truck door and ran the fastest I had ever run, with Emma on my back. I ran all the way to the outskirts of the city before I realized that I wasn’t in a human dimension. I was in a demon dimension. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t scream. It was a miracle no one noticed me. That was four years ago. I was nine at the time. Emma was only two.

I lay there for a few more hours. Suddenly, I heard footsteps above us. Emma had woken up. “Layla? I’m scared.” She grabbed a hold of my arm. Then we heard voices. Demon voices.

“I smell humans. Top grade humans.”

“There are no humans here.”

“Lies. I smell them. And soon, I will find them.”

“I’ve been eating meat. Found a child a few miles down.” And that scared us even more. Emma clung onto me for dear life.

“Fine. But I’ll be back. My senses have never failed me.” We heard fading footsteps. And then they were gone. 

We waited hours upon hours clinging on to each other. We waited until bright light peeked through the cracks. It must have been at least mid-afternoon. We waited a while longer before I went over all the procedures with Emma again before I got ready to leave. 

“Don’t light the lantern by yourself. It’s dangerous, and we don’t want to waste it during the day. If you hear any noises, stay right where you are. And if there’s talking loudly close by, use the sound for cover as you bury yourself in hay. Got it?” I could tell she was tired of hearing this. She nodded, her eyes wide. 

The last night had clearly taken a toll on her. Her hair was frizzy, and her face a pale white. It made me sad, because she had always been upbeat and positive. She smiled a lot and was the type of person who would brighten your day. She was all I had left.

I knew she had a stressful life for a 6 year old, but it was my job as an older sister to make it less stressful. What I would give to be 6 years old again. I sighed and made my way to the old ladder. “Rusty” was the name Emma gave it. 

All of a sudden, the cellar door opened. “Hey. Wait.” Two red eyes peeked out from the opening. I was paralyzed with horror. I forced myself to take slow steps back. 

“Stop. Don’t come out today. It’s too dangerous.” I realized I didn’t smell human blood. What was going on? 

“Sorry if I scared you.” They flipped the bony mask onto the top of their head. It was a blond haired boy. “The name’s William. William Lewis. You can call me Will.” I realized it had been so long that I had forgotten my last name. The memory and symbol of my parents. My family. I felt like crying. William continued on. “I’ve been watching you from afar. Seen you coming out every day. You’re not very good at it. There are much better hiding spots than behind hay bales around here. This is where I used to live. Anyway, are you gonna thank me for saving your life yesterday night, or are you just gonna stare at me?”

“Wait. That demon was you?” He nodded. “But- that was a demon’s voice. I know one when I hear one.”

He chuckled, “Clearly not.” He spoke in the exact same voice I had heard the night before. “But — how?” He thrust his chin forward. “I’ve learned to talk like one. Most demons can’t tell, but you should’ve been able to tell it was a human. The high tone at the end. Humans can’t speak that low for very long. Amateur mistake.” He stood with his hands on his hips and his head held high.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” Emma sat in the corner. She glanced at me. “Who are you talking to, Layla?”

I glared at William, “A friend.” He laughed. 

“A much smarter friend,” he joked.

Suddenly, he got serious. “We need to get out of here. The demons are planning another attack tonight. We have to get far from this area. They’re going to find you this time.”

Horror struck me. I had never thought that the demons would attack two nights in a row. “But where will we go?”

Will gave a short, swift nod of his head. “Just follow me.” I motioned for Emma.

“Take the lantern, Emma.”

“Where are we going?”

I forced out a smile. “You’ll see. We might not be back here for a while, so say goodbye to this place.”

Her face fell. “But — I like this place. Please, can we stay?”

“It’ll be fun. An adventure. We’ll find a big house with running water and electricity. And the whole time, we’ll be guided by my friend and expert Will. Don’t you want to spend time with my new friend? Wouldn’t you like a nice big house?” I knew this was probably never going to happen, but I would do whatever it took to get Emma on board.

She smiled. “Really?” I nodded. “Alright. But we gotta come back sometime. Promise?” I nodded. I had a churning feeling in my stomach. It was the first promise to Emma I knew I’d break. I watched as she began all her goodbyes. Goodbye to the old cellar, goodbye to the stack of hay, and lastly, goodbye to Rusty, the old ladder.

When we finally climbed out, it was almost evening. I had no idea we had spent that long just talking.

Will froze after seeing how low the sun was in the sky, “We have to go. Now.” I nodded, and we swiftly and sneakily made our way out the door. William led the way while Emma and I followed. We made our way behind the barn and walked almost a mile before I began to question Will’s abilities. 

“You know, we aren’t really traveling away from where the demons are, right? We’re just going further behind the barn.”

William nodded. “Just trust me. I know more than you do. We’re nearly there.” We walked past many more farms until we came to a grassy field with tall grass that stretched for miles. “We’re here. This will provide cover. Now we can make good progress without worrying about being hidden.”

Emma tapped me on the shoulder. “I like him,” she whispered. “He really knows how things work around here.” I rolled my eyes. Apparently, Will had good hearing, too, because he smiled smugly at me.

“Let’s go already,” I hissed. “Before it gets too dark.” We traveled many miles in the tall grass. When we were sure we were far away from the demons, we took a little rest. Emma was so exhausted she laid down on the grass and fell asleep instantly.

Suddenly, Will’s face went hard as stone. “I smell human blood a few miles away. We have to keep moving. The demons are coming.”

What? Will could smell blood from miles away? What was up with him? Did he have super senses? Will scooped up Emma and hoisted her onto his shoulders. 

“Let’s go. We have to keep moving.”

I couldn’t help but think that Will was strong. Maybe even stronger than me. I brushed that thought away and kept moving. We traveled many more miles. The sun was beginning to rise. “I can’t smell them anymore,” Will remarked. “I think it’s safe to take a break.”

Thank goodness, I thought to myself. My feet felt like they would fall off. Will put Emma down and she woke up with a start. “Were you carrying me?” she asked me. “No. William was.” I felt my face getting warm. Emma looked up to me more than Will. I should’ve been carrying her. She looked at Will. “You were?” Will nodded. “Yep. And you may have drooled a bit on my shoulder.” Emma giggled, “I did not!” Will laughed, “Whatever you say.”

Will looked up at the sky, “It’ll be lunch time in a few hours. I’d better go out in search of food. Stay here with Emma.” I opened my mouth to argue but Will was already gone. I had a churning feeling in my stomach. 

Great, I thought. There’s Will taking charge again.

“I kind of miss the cellar,” Emma sighed. “It’s way better than this field. There isn’t even a roof here.” For a moment I felt proud. Emma still looked up to me. She liked the shelter I found more than Will’s field. She grinned, “But I like Will.” The churning feeling returned. She must’ve seen the look on my face, because she put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Layla. I still like you. You’ll always be my big sister.” She sure was smart for a 6-year-old. She grinned with her missing tooth. I stuck my pinky finger in the hole, which always made her laugh. We lay on the grass together until Will returned.

When he arrived, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Emma had fallen asleep. I sat up. “Are those really — ” Will nodded. Apples. He had apples. I hadn’t had one since I had been in the human world. In the countryside, Emma and I ate mostly potatoes, carrots, and corn. I hadn’t seen a fruit in so long.

Will sat down next to me with a soft thump. “Don’t wake Emma,” I whispered. He handed me an apple and I caressed the smooth cool skin. I took a bite of the shiny red apple. I felt a burst of flavor and let the sweet juice dribble down my chin. “So, how’d you get apples, anyway?”

“I jogged a few miles to a farmers market.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You went to a demon’s market? Seriously? You could have died!”

“Well, I didn’t, so it’s no big deal. I do it all the time. Nobody knows I’m a human. I’m already considered a regular. With my demon voice, red eyed costume, and herbs to get rid of the scent, I’m bulletproof.”

I sighed, “Okay. Whatever. I trust you. We gotta get moving soon, so we should probably wake up Emma.” I grabbed another apple and hid it behind my back. I shook her gently.

She looked up at me groggily. “Layla? What time is it?” I smiled wide at her. 

“Lunch time.” I handed her an apple. Her eyes grew wide and she smiled big.

”An apple?” she gasped. I laughed as she took big bites into it, devouring it in seconds.

“Why don’t you savor it?” I laughed.

 She grinned, “It’s even better if you don’t.”

 I shrugged, “Okay.”

Many more days went on like this, traveling under cover of darkness (and tall grass), and at dawn Will went to find food. There were fewer and fewer demons as we traveled, and I wondered why. “Will,” I asked. “Why are there fewer demons here?”

“The demons like warm temperatures,” he responded. “Since we’re traveling north, it’s getting colder. We can’t really tell, because we have been traveling a few miles at a time. But the demons have really sensitive thermoreceptors.” At my confused look, he added, “That’s what helps the body detect temperature. But don’t worry, I didn’t expect someone like you to know that. It’s like you haven’t learned anything these past few months.” I felt dumb when I was in William’s presence, but I laughed inside my head because he always had to add a little sassy flare at the end of a few sentences.

We traveled for many months. I started to wonder how William had survived like this. “Now that we’re in the North, wouldn’t it make sense to find shelter and stay there?” I inquired. Emma jumped in.

 “Can we go back to the barn instead?” I pulled her close. “We will, we will,” I lied through my teeth. “In good time.” Once again I felt bad for lying. Emma was growing older. She would realize eventually. Will shook his head. 

“If I wanted to find shelter, I would. Have you not realized after all this time that we’re going somewhere?”

I looked at him. It was such a simple thing. I should have realized that a while ago. But where were we going? I was afraid to ask. If Will was taking us, it must have been safe, right? We traveled a little longer until we came to a wooded area. 

“This is it,” Will whispered, gesturing toward the forest. “Stay on high alert.” I saw fear in Emma’s eyes, the same fear I had sensed in the darkness that night the demons came. We walked a little while until everything looked the same. Massive trees towered over us as we walked deeper and deeper. There was an eerie sense to the forest, with dark gray clouds looming over us and a thick fog in the air. 

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” I began to question Will. Will nodded.

We stopped at an old tree that looked just like the other ones. “We’re here,” Will pointed out. 

“What’s so special about this tree?” I asked.

 “You’ll see,” was his terse reply. He twisted the lowest branch, muttered something I couldn’t make out. “Layla, Emma, stand back.” At first, nothing happened. The tree looked as if it had stayed that way for centuries. Then, slowly, a gaping hole opened up into the middle of the tree revealing a cement tunnel underneath. The tree creaked aside allowing us to crawl in. Emma’s eyes shined.

“This is awesome!” she gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” William smiled for the first time since he had entered the creepy forest.

“Come on.” He motioned to the tunnel. We crawled in the tight space one at a time. The tunnel itself was spacious. It looked quite old and cracked. Now more than ever I wondered where we were going. We walked down the tunnel for a few hours, but it felt like days. The anticipation was killing me. The tunnel got darker and darker. “Can I have the lantern please, Emma?” She nodded and handed it to him, a big smile on her face.

He lit the lantern out in front of him and held it out to light the way. He turned around to make sure we were following, and that’s when I noticed his eyes. The light flickered against his red eyes. When I first met him, I had thought it was a part of his demon mask. How had I not noticed this?

“Your — your eyes,” I gasped. “Demon eyes.” I couldn’t believe it. This explained his peculiar sense of smell. 

“I knew I would have to tell you eventually,” he sighed. “I’m half demon. My mother was a demon. She fell in love with my father early on. Before demons relied on eating humans. Many ate humans, but not all. So despite what anyone said, they married. And they had a baby.” I gasped. 

“You.” He nodded. “But — where are your parents?” I inquired. 

“My mother died giving birth to me. Human and demon blood clash. My father was heartbroken. She was his only love. He raised me until I was 13. And then he died of heartbreak.” He sighed. “I am frozen at the age of 13. The blood formed some kind of compound that keeps me young. I am much older than you think. Now you know. Let us continue. Please.” A tear rolled down his cheek. I was speechless. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other and follow him deeper into the tunnel.

We walked in silence for many more minutes until finally, we came to a big black rimmed portal. It contained some purple fluid substance. Armed guards jumped out of nowhere and surrounded us. “Relax. It’s me,” William said calmly. “The keeper of the portal. Return to your posts.” 

“You’re the keeper to this portal?” I gasped. 

“Yep.” He stood in his familiar triumphant stance. Emma stared at him with wide eyes.

“This is the portal to the human world isn’t it?” He nodded. His eyes sparkled.

 “I’ll miss you, Emma.” He scooped her up into a big hug. Then he turned to me. “Forget everything negative I said. I have lived many long years. Saved many humans through the portal. And you truly are one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met. You sure are experienced, too.” He winked. “Goodbye, Layla. Stay safe. You will be returned to your parents.” Then I did something I thought I would never do. I gave Will a great big hug.

“Goodbye, Will. I will never forget you.” A tear rolled down my cheek.

I took Emma’s hand. “Ready?” She smiled at me. We stepped into the portal together. “This truly is our gateway to heaven.”

Superhero Family

Today is an important day. It’s the day that everything changes. I can finally be taken seriously by my family since I am now 18. I told my family I did not want anything big, just a cake. Not that they would ever listen.  

“Hi! Happy birthday, sweetie!” my mom yells as she zooms across the kitchen. I can’t see what she’s making but I can smell the gorgeous crepes. The same ones she’s made since my 5th birthday. My dad appears with a gift box as big as him.  

“Happy 18th birthday, you will always be my little girl,” he says. My brothers come down the stairs bickering. 

“Why don’t you just put my name on your gift?” Alex says, sighing as if it’s the end of the world.

“You can fly, why can’t you just fly to the store and get her something yourself?” Jordan says.

“Because it’s 8:00 and no stores are open!” Alex yells, though it was actually 10:00.

“I don’t care! I have been working on this gift all year you are not getting the credit!” Jordan yells.

“Breakfast’s ready!” my mom yells. 

Suddenly I see a vision of my family eating Christmas dinner, my mom moving slow and lifeless. My dad quietly announced that he is going to drive to the grocery store. My brothers quietly set the table, Jordan is not even levitating the place mats like he always does. My vision ends and I come back to reality frightened. I take deep breaths, squeezing my mom’s hand. Once the shock wears off I’m determined to find out how this happens and how I can stop it. I’ve got a month till christmas there’s no way I’m letting that happen to my family. 

 “Are you ok?” my mom asks. Before I could answer, my mom gave me the warmest, tightest hug. It lasted forever and somehow it made me feel so safe and free of worries. I say with breathing deeply, the tears coming down my face mixing with the snot from my nose, 

“I had a vision that you guys were boring, not even boring, worse than boring. You were dull and lifeless and you didn’t have powers and Dad drove to the store and… ”  Before I finish the sentence my mom starts wiping the tears and snot from my face. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay, we’re okay,” she says. My gut is telling me that this is my fault, that somehow by resenting my family I’m going to take away their ability to express themselves in their odd obnoxious ways. That’s it, from now on I am going to love my family the way they are.

I walk down the stairs and grab a slice of cake from the fridge and a cup of tea for my breakfast. My mom grabs a slice and a cup of coffee and sits down, she has that look on her face, the bad news face.

“Seeing how you reacted yesterday to seeing we were in danger, I just don’t think you’re ready to be a superhero just yet,” she says.

“I can’t believe it, you still don’t take me seriously. You guys think I can’t be a superhero because I don’t have a flashy power that I can’t use for random everyday tasks. I’m sorry that my superpower is not good enough for you. I’m sorry that my feelings are a burden to you.”

My mom walked away speechless as if I had just killed her spirit.  At that moment I realized that I just broke my mom’s heart. I was so full of anger, I forgot to think about my mom’s feelings and the fact that she does what she does to keep me safe. 

“By the way, Grandma’s coming for Thanksgiving since she can’t come for Christmas. We’re going all out almost like a 2nd Christmas,” Alex says as he grabs an energy drink and runs out the door. Oh no. The vision I had wasn’t on Christmas, it was tomorrow. I have way less time than I thought. 

“Family meeting!” I yell. My whole family squeezes on the couch. “I love you guys, don’t change, don’t stop using your powers, not because of me. Mom, I’m sorry I blew up at you but I’ve wanted to fight with you guys since I was little and I think that I’m strong enough. Anyway, that’s off topic, I don’t want you guys to change, please. Tell me you won’t change, please.”

“Ok,” they say, confused as to why they had to watch this odd mental breakdown.

“You’re ready!” my dad says, opening his arms up for a hug. 

“Huh? I just completely broke down and you think I’m ready?”

“The fact that you are comfortable enough being a weirdo makes you ready to join us.”

“You excited?” Jordan asks. 

“As a superhero, you have to constantly deal with identity problems. So, you have to be comfortable enough with your flaws to be a superhero,” my mom says. 

The next day, I wake up to my mom zooming across the kitchen. I can smell the wonderful baked mac and cheese and delicious ham. I run and hug, her sobbing. At that moment, I yell, 

“Thank god!” 

Bob the Doofus

The light was blinding and he was very drowsy. He was aware that he was in some type of room. His vision was still recovering and then all of a sudden he was aware that his nose was bleeding.    

The golden idol was made by the people who created this earth and have the power of all known wisdom. Any person that holds the idol will gain knowledge of everything known to mankind.  

Boy, do I have a book for you. It is called Bob the Doofus. It is about a man who joins the army and in quest for a powerful idol on an unstable planet where it is taboo to wear a watch. Will Bob make it or will he die looking for his life’s dream? 

“Finally it’s within sight. I can see it. It’s so beautiful,” Bob said as he looked into the darkened cave.  Kabboom!Kabboom?” Bob asked. Then it dawned on him. The idol had not welcomed him with open arms. “Runnnn!”  The moment he said the word, his army scattered and Bob heard a bang, then a thud, then a slice, then a roll. The skeleton army advanced seeming to materialize out of thin air. 

The skeleton shouted something horrid and the whole army attacked. Bob pulled out his sword and ran. He got six feet away when another wave came at him. He started slashing his way through but they seemed to be immortal.

One of the skeletons knocked him upside the head and he fell. He was dimly aware of a smoke smell coming from his pants. He immediately stopped, dropped, and rolled. Then he stopped and took his pants off, and threw them at the skeleton army.  

The skeletons immediately caught fire and turned into ash. 

Like Living Creatures

Music. It’s what keeps us entertained, it’s what people have in common, it’s what genres we listen to, it’s what cultures we spread, and what languages we speak. Music is all around us. It is what makes my life so special, both now and when it first inspired me. In every way, shape, and form, it is the instruments that truly make music come alive. 

Music, and the instruments it is played on, have been a part of my life ever since I was little. The first time I was inspired to play music was when I listened to a popular classical piece by Ludwig van Beethoven called Fur Elise. The different techniques used to play this piece captured my imagination and showed me so many new possibilities: how fast the fingers moved, how loud or how soft it was played, how fast or slow different parts of the piece were, and what notes were played with. The moment I heard and experienced this piece, I knew that I wanted to start playing the piano. I never looked back, nor do I regret it. 

Beside the piano is one of the places where I feel the happiest. It makes me come alive. The keys on the piano make me feel so free. Every single black and white key located on the piano has a different tone and pitch. You can play two notes at once and they will sound different. The moment I touch the piano, I let out all my emotions and just focus on the beautiful instrument in front of me. Piano is also what inspired me to start playing the violin.

I prefer the violin over the piano because the violin has a much more pleasing and delightful sound. Like the notes on the piano, each note on the violin brings its own unique sound. Each string on the violin is a different thickness and texture. The lowest string on the violin, the G string, is a lot thicker than the E string, the highest string on the violin. Violin requires you to have diligent and concentrated fingers in order to successfully execute the violin. Every single technique used to properly execute the violin requires concentration and diligence. 

Of course, concentration and diligence mean nothing without lots and lots of practice. You cannot expect to be perfect all the time, or right away. As the famous violinist Itzhak Perlman says, “One must always practice slowly. If you learn something slowly, you forget it slowly.” When I first started playing, it was a nightmare. My violin sounded terrible, my notes were all out of tune, my bow sounded scratchy, and I had poor knowledge of where the notes were on the violin. It was not a very pleasant experience. A scratchy bow on the violin with out-of-tune notes is equivalent to the sound of a dying goat. Not a very delightful and pleasant sound. 

 But I practiced, I had lessons, and over time, my playing got much better. Before playing the violin, I had no idea that composing music, and not just playing it, would be life changing. I discovered a new passion that I had no idea I loved so much. I also gained new friends because of orchestra and got to experience what it is like to play in a full orchestra. Playing as part of a full orchestra is an entirely different and fantastic experience. I got to be surrounded by the music in a way that felt entirely different from just playing by myself in my living room. 

My piano is located in the living room of my house. There, it sits waiting for me to warm it up and move around its keys that are getting older day by day. Everyday, it waits for me to sit on its seat and put music on its stand, and flip the pages of its music books. Every hour of every day, it sits in agonizing silence, waiting and waiting and waiting. I look and walk past it everyday in my house. My violin sits in a case in the family room of my house. In its case, it is nice and snug, sitting in the right environment to keep it from breaking or cracking. Everyday, it sits cozy in its case while waiting for the right time to be used. When it is time for it to be used, its strings prepare to make beautiful sounds, and its bow prepares to produce the beautiful sounds that come out of the violin. As every minute, second, hour, and day goes by, it loses the beautiful pitch and tone that it makes, gradually growing old, and eventually unusable. Instruments are like living creatures. Without the right care and nourishment, they will quickly rot and eventually die or become unusable. The longer they are in use, the slower they will break and become wasted. Music and my instruments is what keeps me engaged, dedicated, and passionate. Without music, I may not have discovered my true talent. I cherish every part of my music journey. 

Music brings me joy, happiness, peace. I hope by describing why music makes me happy, it will show how important and meaningful it is to me. Not just because of the way I play or what sounds come out, but because of the way it allows me to express myself without actually having to say words.

Beowulf, the Real Antagonist

In the book, Beowulf, Grendel and his mother are the main antagonists. From Beowulf’s point of view, Grendel basically marches into his hall, massacring many of his men, until Beowulf can pin down Grendel and rip off his arm; Grendel then runs away and dies. Later on, Grendel’s mother wants revenge on Beowulf, so she sneaks into Beowulf’s hall, retrieves Grendel’s arm, and abducts one of Beowulf’s men. So Beowulf goes to her lair, defeats her, and lives happily ever after until the dragon kills him, but that does not affect this essay. 

From Grendel’s point of view, it is revealed that Grendel only starts attacking Beowulf’s hall because of the loud clamor and noise that disturbs him every night. After trying and failing to reason with Beowulf’s men, he decides to take action. But when he moves to attack, he’s ganged up on by a group of warriors. The text reads: 

“But Higelac’s hardy henchman and kinsman

Held him by the hand; hateful to other

Was each one if living. A body-wound suffered

The direful demon, damage incurable

Was seen on his shoulder, his sinews were shivered,

His body did burst.” (Beowulf, XIII, lines 21-26).

Here, we learn that Grendel was unfairly outnumbered by all of the men. It also shows that this wound was “incurable”, meaning that Grendel wouldn’t have been able to use his arm again. At that point of the battle, there was no reason to kill him. In the book, the henchmen and kinsmen have successfully restrained Grendel, so capturing him should have been enough. 

After that, Grendel slinks off miserably to die. And, it is reasonable that Grendel’s mom wants to retaliate. Retrieving her only son’s missing arm is justified, and attacking one of Beowulf’s men is also fair — one for one.    

She would’ve left Beowulf alone and lived without causing any more trouble, but of course Beowulf decides to hunt her down. She is caught by surprise, and after a short battle, in which Beowulf steals a sword, is killed.

So Grendel’s mom dies at the hands of Beowulf while trying to avenge her only son, who was also unfairly teamed up against, and is killed by Beowulf. Beowulf finds that Grendel’s mother took his body. We see later in the book that Beowulf knows Grendel is tired of conflict, his joys seizing from him. 

“When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict

Grendel lying, of life-joys bereavèd,

As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him;

His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered,

Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy,

And he cut off his head then.” (Beowulf, XXIV, lines 30-33)

And yet Beowulf still cuts off Grendel’s head and takes the sword that he killed Grendel’s mother with for no other purpose than to use them as trophies, without any guilt of the deaths that he was responsible for. Beowulf’s subsequent death by dragon? Instant karma. 

Works Cited

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/16328/16328-h/16328-h.htm#XII

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/16328/16328-h/16328-h.htm#XII

Flesh

Editor’s Note: Content warning for subject matter related to eating disorders

Script: This script is meant to be read in podcast format

Archivist:

Statement of Ichika Payne, regarding her time as an employee of Kenley Design Company.

Original statement given 10th of January, 2006. Audio recording done in 2020 by Katherine Adamos, head archivist of the Lampert Institute, London. Statement begins.

Statement:

My eating disorder developed as most do. I don’t really want to dwell on that, because I do not feel like explaining my life story to someone who is not my therapist, as that’s not what I’m here to talk about. But I will say that from a young age, I’ve experienced… real hunger. The deep, deep ache in your stomach when it’s truly empty, and it feels like a black hole inside you. It’s almost like a high, a weird feeling of purity.

I work as a designer. It’s ironic, as the fashion industry is known for being problematic in terms of body image. I’ve always loved fashion though, dressing up, going shopping. But it was never so much about how I felt in the clothes. It was more like… how I felt when people noticed me in them. My parents always told me that I was a sucker for praise, but I don’t think they knew just how right they were. As a child, I was constantly craving attention. Not in an obnoxious or over the top way… just, doing what I could to make people notice me. For example, being the prettiest, being the smartest. Things like that.

I suppose I do have a weird sort of fear surrounding… bodies. Meat, in general. My mother received liposuction when I was six. I had asked her where what they took out would go, and she told me she didn’t know. Even now, I can remember my six-year-old self picturing that bloody fat and flesh, still warm from my mother’s body, swirling down a hospital drain, smeared on white tile.

I apologize for the tangent. In the summer of 2005, I was fresh out of college, and looking for somewhere to start my career, preferably a smaller company, as I wanted to work where there was a good chance of my clothes being made and put on sale. I lived in Bristol at the time, and it wasn’t too hard to find a recent startup brand. Kenley, they were called.

I had submitted some of my winter designs online, and went in for an interview only a week later. According to their website, I was looking for a woman named Patricia. No last name or anything. Just Patricia.

She was a strikingly tall Turkish woman, gaunt, and had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. The same opaque sky blue a colored pencil might be. She was so thin, so angular. Her bones looked like they could cut. She must have been in her mid-forties, but it was… hard to tell. Upon meeting her, I automatically felt a sense of respect for her. She exuded the confidence of a leader, even though she was only the supervisor of the fifteen people who worked in the studio.

The interview went well enough, I suppose. The building I would be working in was a nondescript two story brick building somewhere downtown. She asked me a few questions about previous work I’d done, what my goals were, that sort of thing, all the while twirling her thick, bleach white hair around a long, thin finger. Looking back on that moment, I feel as if I should’ve known something was wrong when I observed how… sharp her nails looked. Long and pointed, as an acrylic nail would be. But those nails weren’t fake.

I got the job fairly easily. I take pride in my work, and I’d like to say that I got in based on skill alone. But… now I’m not so sure.

The environment there was fairly quiet, only the sounds of graphite moving against paper and the whir of a slightly dented space heater in the corner. The floors were a grey tile, and always sparkling clean. The smell of bleach was quite pervasive.

I didn’t talk to my colleagues very often, aside from idle chat at break times. Any conversations we had were… stilted, as well. Like it was difficult for them to remember the right words to say. Like they hadn’t used their voices in a while. I ignored this well enough. I had barely any friends outside of work, so I took what interactions I could.

Lunch was an interesting matter. The first day I got there, I expected my colleagues to leave their desks and head for the break room at noon, the scheduled time for lunch. However, no one moved. They just all kept their heads bent over their desks and… continued working. I never saw a single person there eat.

At first, I thought I was just among hard workers. It was almost a relief, to be honest. I didn’t have to go through the trouble of excusing why I wasn’t eating lunch, or carrying around an empty lunch bag for the appearance. No one would bat an eye if the only thing I consumed was tea with metamucil stirred in, they were so focused on their work.

But, as time progressed, I started to feel a bit… suspicious? Of my colleagues. They were diverse enough, mostly Malay women, a white lady with red hair whose name I could never remember, and a few men. Whenever I chatted with them, they clearly didn’t keep up with any of the news or popular culture. And of course I can relate to that, I’m not the most updated person but. At least I vaguely knew what was going on in the world. At least it seemed like I checked my phone once in a while.

And the way they were so focused on their work. Constantly at their desks, sketching and sketching and sketching. (pause) I never once saw any of their designs, as they never got published or created. I’m not sure if what they were designing was clothes at all.

Patricia was much different from them. Comparing her to my colleagues was like… comparing a child’s picture book to a novel. She always wore sleek black pantsuits, white coils down to her shoulders, and those nails. Always painted a bright neon pink, and sharp enough to cut. I was more than a little enamored with her, in the way a student might crush on her professor.

She was everything I wanted to be. Often, during the lunch breaks, I would go to her office, she would pull out two Diet Cokes from her mini fridge, and we would talk. About nothing in particular. Fashion, I suppose. I can’t really remember. Her presence was a bit blinding, and I always felt oddly nervous, or giddy, going to talk to her. I suppose maybe that’s what muddied my memory. I’m usually very collected, but I couldn’t help but just… want her praise. I wanted her to like me. She was… ethereal.

We never discussed… eating issues or the like. But there is one thing I distinctly recall her saying to me. I hesitate to call it a memory. It felt almost unreal, like an echo of a conversation.

That day Patricia had seemed more… aggressive. Her usual elegant demeanor replaced by something more (pause) ravenous, though I could see her quite obviously trying to suppress herself. During our usual time together she seemed almost… impatient with me, as if she were talking to a child.

For me, one of the worst feelings in the world is being unwanted, especially from this woman, this role model of mine. I made up some excuse and stood to leave, saying I needed to finish one of my winter designs.

As I reached the door, I felt one of her hands close around my wrist. She had been all the way across the room, and it startled me at how fast she’d closed the gap between us. Her sharp nails were digging into my skin, and for how thin she was, her grip was strong, unnaturally strong. I don’t doubt she could have crushed my hand.

Fear pulsed through me.

There is not enough meat on your bones.”

Now, people have said that to me plenty of times. A casual joke or a knowing look from a professor. 

But she growled it at me. The black hole where my stomach used to be sobbed in hunger, and all I could do was stare into her shallow, sky blue eyes.

She released her nails, and I ran.

When I left her office, every single one of my coworkers had their eyes trained on me. At the time I thought it was just because I’d made some sort of commotion. 

Looking back, I’m fairly certain I was the only one in that room breathing.

I knew I had made a mistake. I left work five hours early, and all my papers and supplies were still on my desk. The deadline for submitting a line of dresses I designed was next week, and I desperately needed to work on them. 

My heart pounded with anxiety and panic, and I paced around my practically empty apartment, feeling cold with horror and a bit of embarrassment. I decided I would go in once the work day ended, grab my things and go. Then, come into work the next day, pretend nothing happened, and keep living my life.

So, at 8 pm, I took the bus back downtown, plugged in the code to unlock the front door, the smell of bleach and floor cleaner not quite as potent as it usually was, and carefully walked up the stairs to the second floor. I’d never been in the building this late in the evening, and the pools of darkness where the setting sun didn’t reach gave me terrible unease.

It felt oddly warm in the building. I was wearing my fall clothes, and sweat was slowly dampening my turtleneck. I was too scared to turn on any lights, and I didn’t know if anyone was still in, so I walked with light footsteps. I noticed a sticky substance on the floor, causing my boots to create an ugly suction sound. I kept walking, the steps getting stickier the more stairs I climbed, and the usual clean smell fading.

I will try my best to describe what I saw when I pushed my way through the door.

My colleagues were there. Still sitting at their desks. Not scribbling on paper, but just… sitting there, eyes wide open, facing forward.

However, there was a yellow-ish oily substance slowly dripping from their legs. As if the bottoms of their feet were removed, and they were left to drain. The murky white completely flooded the white tile of the room, and it smelled awful. It smelled of fat and of rot and infection.

And Patricia. I could see her standing casually at my desk, leaning on it, nothing covering her upper body, and covered in large stripes of red. Heat was radiating from the spot she stood in, and I could see the steam hovering around her. 

She extended one arm, bicep facing up, and used one of those bright, pink nails to slowly saw through her flesh, the same way one might carve a piece of meat. She peeled it off with a sickening rip, and flung it to the tile.

I watched as that same substance seeped from her, trickled down her forearm and legs, her trousers soaked to her thin, boney calves.

I vomited.

And funnily enough, my first thought was that I ruined a pair of £70 corduroy pants.

Sixteen pairs of eyes turned to leer at me, but none of them were human. Not anymore.

I made a brief moment of eye contact with what used to be Patricia. Her smile revealed a set of sharp canines dripping with what I can only assume was blood. 

I saw her mouth form a word, a question.

“Hungry?”

I tripped while sprinting out of the building, even though there was no one chasing me.

I never went back to work. I simply… packed up and left the city. I’m currently staying with my parents in Leeds, and have started receiving clinical help for my disorder. I’m not sure if I’ll ever receive any answers for what happened at Kenley, and I’ve decided that’s for the best. I just… needed to tell someone. Do what you will with this information. Thank you for your time.

Archivist:

(sigh) Statement ends. As this Patricia was not described to have any last name, I can assume that Ms. Payne encountered the entity formerly known as Patricia Yilmaz. We believe it is now working for either the Corruption or Viscera. There are no details concerning the address or location of Kenley Design Studio, other than sparse descriptions of downtown Bristol. When research was done online for the company, a website did pop up, but had been deactivated two months ago. Figures. When I sent in Tom to do a bit of reconnaissance, he found a multitude of two story brick buildings, none of which had any signage to distinguish between them. 

When we contacted Ms. Payne, she refused to disclose the location of the studio, and had no new information for us, other than the fact that, about a month ago, a bill with no forwarding address was sent to her new home in Munich, charging her 87.56 pounds, the exact price of 44 cans of diet coke.

Recording ends.

End audio

Smile and Nod

Georgie’s friend Elliott’s mom, Clarice, opened the door of their large, pastel-blue house and waved at Georgie. She was still in her robe, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She looked as if she had just gotten out of bed. She was on the phone, so she pulled it away from her ear slightly and whispered to Georgie,

“Elliott’s in the basement.”

He smiled and nodded, something his mother had taught him to do at his dad’s funeral. Many of the guests were people Georgie didn’t know, so to avoid calling them by the wrong name, he just nodded and smiled sadly. The funeral had been seared into Georgie’s memory, the colors and sounds as vivid as a movie.

The funeral was located in a small town in southern Italy. Georgie’s father had always talked about it – he described it as the most magical place in the world. Georgie’s mother believed it would be where he wanted his funeral to take place. It was also the first time Georgie had been out of the USA. The plane ride had gone by in a blur of sleeping and crying and leaning into his mother’s sleeves which were stained with salty tears. When they arrived in Naples, the taxi ride to the funeral location consisted of mostly the same things as the plane ride, although Georgie distinctly remembered his mom screaming and ripping out grass on the side of the road at one point.

When he and his mother finally arrived at the hotel, his mom had crept into the bed and didn’t get out of it for the entire next day. Georgie felt obliged to stay and watch over her, so he missed out on viewing the beautiful countryside of southern Italy. He had snatched glances at it on the way to the hotel. It truly seemed magical, just like his father had always said. The ocean was bright blue. The rolling hills shone a vibrant green and the cliffs of clay houses reminded Georgie of something from a fairytale. It seemed like a dream compared to the bleak colors of Kansas City and the poverty stricken streets of his neighborhood.

Two days after Georgie and his mother arrived was the day of the funeral. They had been the first ones there, and the bright sun and cloudless sky were starkly different to the midnight black suit that Georgie was wearing and the black lace that adorned his mother’s even darker dress. Guests had trickled in after he and his mother had arrived, their faces somber. 

Then came the casket.

As the dark brown coffin was carried in by his father’s two eldest brothers, a wave of strange anger came over Georgie. How could his father have betrayed him and his mother? he wondered. His eyes welled up with tears and they spilled out in waterfalls of sadness. He gasped for the air that seemed like it was avoiding him. This was the only part of the funeral that was not clear as glass. Georgie thought he remembered shrieking, the ghastly noise making some of the guests jump. He remembered clawing at his head, as if there was some sort of costume over his body and he was really all happy and cheerful underneath. His mother’s arms tried to wrap around him, but he remembers them dropping and his mother’s sobs combined with his screaming drowning out the rest of the world.

Georgie flickered back into reality and noticed that he was standing frozen in the middle of Elliott’s living room, a single tear dripping down his cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and ran down to the basement. He rubbed his eyes once more before meeting up with Elliott and the rest of his friends who were seated at a round, low-to-the-ground table. Elliott was practicing a new handshake with Georgie’s other friend, Jacob, while another friend named Oliver sat at the far side of the table playing on a Nintendo Switch. Georgie tried to pull his face into a smile, despite the memories that had just resurfaced in his mind.

Uncomfortable Situations

My parents didn’t allow me to travel anywhere on my own until the day I turned sixteen. They said it was too dangerous for someone as unaware as I was, always with headphones on or watching a championship match. I have always had soccer. My parents didn’t even think I really cared about my social life until I wanted one. I guess I always put sports first, and my parents thought that was enough. The people I met at soccer when I was younger were never usually my age, and if they were, their personalities were usually a lot more competitive than mine. When I started playing with kids who actually cared about the sport, I found that having a life outside of activities might be moderately important. That’s saying a lot. I even had to force myself to stop mentioning football as soccer, because no one here ever says that. It’s only when you watch American commentary day in and day out that the word becomes ingrained in your head, just as tourists can get into some embarrassing situations by referring to pants when clothes shopping. Currently, I am walking along the streets near my house, clogged up blocks crowded with people. This city is full of shopping malls with sports stores, where high top sneakers are the hub for people spending money they don’t have, and girls practically getting drunk on new styles of lipstick.

My friend invited me to her boyfriend’s eighteenth birthday party in a bar within the heart of the city. My guess is that I look quite dysfunctional, no makeup, messy bun, Barcelona jersey (No it does not have the name Messi on the back), dirty white sneakers, and jeans. I’ve never been to this particular bar before, but no one ever cares if I’m not old enough to enter, as long as I don’t start a fight. I smile crookedly as I walk, sitting in the opposite corner of the room to my supposed friends. I take the time to watch as Kika Littlebrook is whispering to Maggie Stilton about this cute boy’s outfit (which I have to admit, is pretty cool). I see them pointing, and that’s enough to tell me about their petty conversations. What really catches my attention, however, is their mouths hovering over each other’s ears, talking to one another about how ugly the girl is that he took to the party. I don’t even need to hear what they are saying to see it in their eyes, to watch their expression grow all sharp and soft at the same time as he looks over his shoulder and winks. Art Jacobs is his name, I remember he was the first person to publicly kiss a girl in eighth grade. Ophelia Janson sits across the table from Magnus Reid. Staring at her nails as he starts talking about rugby statistics compared to football. The only reason she even came was because he invited her. The only reason he was invited was because he’s good at sports. What I’ve figured out is how that somehow ups the level of status of the person hosting this party.

“Viki.” Evelyn McNair is rolling her eyes at me from across the room, smirking as I slump over.

“Hey Ev.” Evelyn has gone to school with me practically since I could walk. We were even on the same soccer team for a while, before I got too good for her on-field dramatics. It’s her boyfriend’s birthday today, Romy James. He somehow rented out an entire bar for the occasion. God only knows the strings this guy’s parents pulled. He is also a Barcelona fan, though I don’t think he has watched a women’s soccer game in his life. I even had a crush on the jerk in fifth grade, though he made it known that that was never going to work out. He’s the type of boy that’s just dating Evelyn because of her pretty little sister, mind you Angelina’s only fourteen.

“Viktoria!” He yells, pulling me into a tight, mostly uncomfortable hug. My watch starts buzzing, telling me I have an hour to be out of this bar, and done with the whole thing. Romy’s hugs always make me feel like I should run away, that something is just wrong with the way he holds you. His arms always squeeze a bit too tight and his hands grip the top of your pants, no matter how low waisted they are. Tonight his breath smells distinctly of alcohol, his eyes glossy and his shirt color sweaty against my forehead.

“Don’t hug her like that!” Evelyn scolds. I feel Romy’s grip loosening, moving around to hug Evelyn from the back. “I’m your girlfriend, not her.” The way she says the sentence makes me tense all over again. It’s not even like Evelyn cares about my own well being. It was different when we were little, apparently, she would stand up for me. I didn’t usually even talk to her, let alone care what she thought. I guess she just felt obliged to be a nice person, though I never needed her help. When I got older, I signed with a semi-pro soccer team in the area. In a few years, I hope to play internationally. If not a dynamic personality, at least I have that.

“Ev!” Romy practically drags Evelyn out of the barstool she is sitting on. “My birthday, my choice of who to dance with!” Evelyn’s face goes from slightly uncomfortable, to genuinely excited. I hate watching her like this. Everything that defines her had now turned into the devil’s opinion of her naive soul. She twirls and dips, spinning into dizzying circles not bothered by the way Romy greedily stares at her silver necklace, or little sister when Evelyn is anywhere but a party setting.

As the night drags on further, the dancing gets more and more uncomfortable to watch. Romy has now set up his own girlfriend with another guy. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look like he’s had many drinks, standing by the barstool fidgeting with his car keys. I see him pulling up Barcelona statistics on his phone. The bright blue background of the screen flashing the familiar colors into his eyes. By the time the watch on my alarm sounds, I am the only one not dancing who is still sober. The smells of smoke and alcohol numbs all feelings in my nose. The familiar buzz of my phone vibrating makes me want to scream. I just wasted an hour of my time, in a place I hated, with people I don’t even like, for something I felt obliged to attend. Why did I feel I needed to attend? I honestly think that I just wanted someone to see that I cared. I really don’t care. I only cared about the kid who thought about other people other than herself and that stupid, immoral disaster of a boyfriend. I care about having friends who actually are nice to others, and not just me because I seem to help them out in some way. She’s the girl who plays soccer, she’s the girl with a high GPA. My emotions feel like they are about to go on overload like they sometimes do when I have an exam I haven’t studied for at 1:00 am on test day.

 “Viki!” Evelyn yells at me when I start walking into the cold night air. The dark night wind flushes the redness and embarrassment into my face. I almost forgot I even heard her. “Viki!” Evelyn continues to run towards me, telling me things that were never true. She says that I hate her and that’s the reason I’m leaving.

“I don’t hate you!” I yell back through the bar door because I really don’t hate her. I just don’t want to deal with her. I don’t want to watch her melt further and further into someone she never was. I’m not due home for another hour, I just decided an hour was enough time not to seem like a bad friend. It wasn’t even her birthday party anyways, just some guy who pretends to love her.

“Viki!”

What do you want!” I snap. I feel my hair whip around into my face, making my mouth fill with strange, distasteful bile. 

“Whoa, hold on there.” Romy looks plain. I never thought I would use that description of any person living in my city, but Romy, of all people, looks plain. His usual cocky expressive features have flattened into a straight line. His leather jacket has been taken off revealing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, and his previously gelled hair has been pushed down into a wet mop.

“S-sorry,” I don’t really know what else to say. I mean, I did yell at the wrong person, but even he knows he deserved it.

“You leaving already?”

“Yeah,” I say, my back facing his bland outfit. I have no idea where I want to walk, all I know is that I have to look convincing for him to let me be.

“Mind if I walk with you?” Leave it to eighteen-year-old boys to not understand anything relating to body language.

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, too bad.” I grind my teeth to stop me from hitting him squarely in the jaw. We walk in silence for a minute or so. I try to lose him, walking into large, crowded groups of people and slinking into hidden alleys. Romy’s never been a threat to my existence. I can handle him if I need too, that’s not my issue. What I really am nervous about is the fact that it’s always the girl’s issue when she hits a guy, even if he could be tried for stalking me. That’s the only reason I’m running right now. Well, that and the fact that I need a good reputation for anything I want to try when I get older. I even try climbing an emergency ladder. I feel my phone bounce in my zipped pocket as I climb. If I need it, my phone has a GPS as well as numerous calling mechanisms. No, this is not one of those stories where I suddenly have no WiFi. I have a data plan anyway. I finish climbing the ladder to an abandoned fourth story window, and sure enough, he’s right behind me. The cool night air makes my cheeks pink with cold, and red with annoyance. I sit down on the fence ledge, to make sure he doesn’t even get near me. My fists are clenched like claws across the outside metal bars. I don’t have a fear of heights.

“What is wrong with you!” I stop, frustration clouding my eyes with anger. I really just want to leave. Why won’t he let me leave? “You of all people, have decided to follow me, an antisocial, slightly reckless person, who would have given anything not to even be invited to your eighteenth birthday party!”

“Why did you even come?”

“I-”

“Just stop talking. I know you, and you are going to start a sentence right now, that is not going to end for a solid thirty seconds, yet will still have no clear reasoning.” I wasn’t very good at words in the first place. This has just turned my tongue upside down in my mouth. It does not help matters when I suddenly realized that I am sitting on the ledge of a fire escape ladder, with a four-story drop below me, and a creepy guy in front of me.

“I guess I wasn’t as smart as I thought when I sat on a fence that is there for a reason, with a freaky dude in front of me who just chased me up a ladder.”

He smirks.

“Wipe that stupid smile off your stupid face or I will forcefully push you off this stupid balcony.”

“No.”

“Then get out of my space!” I practically leap off of the fence to land right in front of him, making him stumble backward and grip the railing.

“I have nowhere to go either Viki. No place important anyways.”

“Either! I just attended your birthday party. You just left to follow me out of your birthday party. Apparently no one has decided to care enough to search for you at your birthday party. WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE AT-”

“Viki, I get it. But think about it, do you really have anywhere to go? Do you really want to go home by yourself?”

I bite my lip to stop myself from yelling again. I don’t know why I yelled. I don’t usually unless I get into fights with my parents. It’s hard to know what to say to that. I was planning on texting my parents that I was going to walk around for a bit after maybe doing some math homework. Nah, there was no way I was ever going to do homework. Or maybe… I’ve never been the person to plan out what I am going to do. I know what I don’t want and that’s that. But right now, it doesn’t matter. I don’t understand enough about my own head right now to determine what I want. All I know is that I don’t want to know if I care or if I don’t.

“Why did you leave your party? I mean, I understand why I left but you-”

“I wasn’t enjoying it.”

My mouth forms a million questions all at once.

“Stop. Don’t ask me anything. I know what I look like and what vibe I give off and what my girlfriend loves me for, and what my friends care about. I’m not stupid.”

I raise my eyebrows. He has to know what he sounds like, some intelect who has just robbed a bank with no getaway car. Better yet, a forward by the name of Lionel Messi who thinks he’s the best player in the world when Lieke Martens exists.“You sure about that?”

His face looks solemn. A sad smile stretching across his face. I feel no pity whatsoever.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Forget that question! Why did you start chasing a girl out of your birthday party when you already have a girlfriend? Why did you make your girlfriend dance with Jackson Quinn?”

“I didn’t want to deal with it.”

“Okay Romy James. You have-”

“Okay fine! I don’t know what I’m doing here! I just wanted to talk to someone who I thought would understand.”

I don’t really know what he means by that. I know there is a lot I understand about the world in my own way, that most people really don’t get. I understand what it means to hurt, to cry, to feel deeply. I know what it means to live, and to feel failure wash away like a hurricane. There are no particular experiences that have even hinted to why I can comprehend the things I do at my age, it’s just who I am, and who I will be for my entire lifetime. I know who I am but for some reason, who I am doesn’t always feel right, and what I do with my time doesn’t always feel worthwhile.

“Okay,” I count to ten before speaking again, a trick from my third grade teacher who noticed I was good with words, but had so much to say it came out all at once. “Let’s start with the first part of your comments. What are we doing here?”

“I don’t really know, that’s why I asked you.” I was asking Romy to try and process his emotional outburst, but his brain seems to be running like a mouse on a hamster wheel.

“I’ll answer first and then we’ll see if you can follow the example.” I take a deep breath and make sure he is making eye contact before I begin. “On a basic level, I came here to run away from you. I wasn’t worried originally about heights, as I have no fear of heights. But, I realized when I climbed up here that maybe it wasn’t the best idea as you seem quite misogynistic, and similar to a stalker, not to mention your ability to shove me off the roof.”

“As I told you before, I know what people think of me.”

“One, you really don’t. And two, no interjections while the instructor is speaking please. Why do I have no fear of heights though? Why do I crave high places? I don’t like people a whole lot Romy, I hope your little brain would at least know that. I guess to me, it’s easier to try and understand others better, than for anyone else to understand me. High places allow me to escape, observe others, and feel at one with the world and city around me.” I make sure my expression challenges him to have a follow up.

“Well that was a mouthful.” He pauses uncertainly, biting his nails. “This isn’t going to come out the way my brain wants it to. Okay, I know that at least to you I’m a jerk. I was horrible to you in fifth grade, I made fun of you loads as we were growing up, and I just chased you out of my own party. Why you though? I guess you intrigue me in some ways. You always just seem so solitary, and… figured out. I know this is going to sound stupid but you always seem to have your head filled with thoughts of the future while for me, it hangs over like a black cloud ready to soak my present day body to the bone.”

I nod, looking him in the eye to make sure he understands I listened. The city noise rattles in the background of our conversation. I can still hear the bars and concert hubs down the street. It is always busy here, though the music of it is ringing in my ears no matter where I go. “I don’t think you need to understand everything yet. You don’t have to have it all planned out.”

“But I feel like I do. You know you do. You’re that girl who has it all, smart, sports phenom, pretty, and doesn’t need anyone aside from herself.”

“I guess I do, but what about after sports? After all of my passions have been lived out?”

“Then you’ll find new ones. That’s just who you are.”

I smile, and automatically feel embarrassed about it. “I am pretty distinct, aren’t I?” I look at him for a moment, and wonder how this weird, oddly sentimental, guy is having this sort of conversation with me. Me, Viktoria de Leon, the girl with shoulder length, dyed blonde hair and dark roots. The girl who looks like she has her life figured out and quite frankly does, in a different sense.

“It’s not so much figuring out your life, and more what you love. Figure out what you are passionate about, what makes you happy.” I can tell he is thinking about something only he knows after I stop talking. His face is diving into the deep late night light, to ponder my words. “For me, it’s different. I know what I love and what makes me happy, though I need to learn to love myself.” The words come out more of a whisper to me than anyone else. I don’t even think he’s listening anymore, staring out at the street lamps and down the block to the bar. I say it because I need to say it to someone. I need to have my words make sense to me in their own right. 

We waited there for a minute or so, looking out at the blocks and feeling the night air across the back of our necks, enjoying the sounds of other people shouting, and other kids drinking the night away.

“I should go. You have pointed out to me numerous times throughout this conversation how strange I am for leaving my own party.”

“My opinion still stands.” I don’t leave my seat on the railing as Romy climbs down the ladders and onto the street.

“I like your Martens jersey!” He shouts from the ground. I let myself chuckle and wave back before hopping off the railing to take a seat on the floor and look through the metal bars. I have a feeling those are the last nice things he will say to me in a long while. It’s not like he’ll ever be mean again after this, but we are different people. It is more likely he will tell me nothing at all. We live different lives, and he has different friends and interests than I do. That’s just how it is, and I know it’s how it will always be. I do know one thing we have in common however, and that is our ability to persevere and grow along with the coming nights.

Loose Brick

On the last Saturday of August,

an ambulance sirened past Valley Forge.

Your red Toyota was our caboose.

The cyclists who found me, squashed,

waved and went on.

Above me, a clean-shaven man in white smiled. 

He told me I was brave. 

Your electric toothbrush 

vanished from Mom’s medicine cabinet.

My kitsch cast was claustrophobic with sharpie.

The maple trees out my window turned red.

How did the Continental soldiers survive

six months of wind whipped backs?

Were chalk blue fingers

suffering as usual?

Maybe if there was no Days Inn

no road trip  no grasshopper girl

no garden wall  no loose brick     

no tumble   no pavement  

no falling   no crumple

no left arm, cracked in two

maybe you would have stayed.

Floof

The following is not a true story, but it includes murder and cannibalism. Reader discretion is advised.

(It is horror as well as comedy. There will be funny parts throughout the story in hopes to cheer you up. This also takes place in the 1800s, which will be useful information to know. It’s also really weird. Like, really, really, really weird. If you don’t condone weirdness, don’t read this.)

My dearest Theodore,

I am afraid I will not be able to complete the task. I have recently been cursed. Do not worry, I have not been harmed. This may sound weird, but every knife I slice with now screams “FLOOF!” I know that floof is not a word, but it may be in many years, as it seems that the witch who has cursed me may be a time traveler. I know those are fake, and science fiction, but this witch was not dressed in black, as most are supposed to be. She had small, blinking machines surrounding her. When I saw her, she had almost flickered into existence. The fact that she managed to curse me is proof in itself. I have reason to believe she was a time traveler, as I have just explained, but that is beside the point.

I cannot complete the task due to this. I am afraid you will not receive your meal on the twenty-first, as you have specified. I will find someone else to finish the task, and swear them to secrecy. They shall send the meat to me, and I will give it to you in person. They shall think I am the one asking for this, and I shall pay them myself, do not worry. No suspicion will ever be pointed at you, all will go towards me. You will get it as soon as possible, but that will not be tomorrow, or the twenty-first, I am afraid. I love you, as always. Give my baby Mary my hugs and kisses, and tell her it was from me, her dearest, Elizabeth Johnson. I have the honor to be your obedient servant.

E. Johnson, 1800

That was the letter Elizabeth sent to Theodore on December 19, 1800. It was sent the day before, at 11 o’clock precisely. It arrived at his house at 3 o’clock. Theodore’s response was simple, sent at 4 o’clock.

Elizabeth,

Get it to me on the twenty-third at latest, or you will be next.

T. Wilson, 1800

Elizabeth was rushing when she received the message (8 o’clock). It was the 21st already! Who would she hire?! Looking up, the witch flickered into existence once again.

“You…” Elizabeth glared. “Get away, cruel beast!”

“Deal with it…” That was all the witch said before leaving the poor woman.

“Deal with it? That must mean I might go through with my project and succeed! Thank you, mysterious witch!”

A letter was immediately sent to Theodore, of course.

My dearest Theodore,

I am letting you know that the meat may be ready today. I will try not to disrupt anyone. My neighbor, Ryan Robbins, will be assisting me, as you might say, in my project. The witch visited me again, and said, I quote, “deal with it” so I shall. You may get your wish earlier than recently thought. The wedding will happen tomorrow, and I shall enjoy it. I love you, as always, and am awaiting living with you. Tell Mary I send her warm wishes. I have the honor to be your obedient servant.

E. Johnson, 1800

Theodore received the letter, and a slight smile snuck into his eyes, though his mouth stayed firm. He erased it once Mary started crying, and burned the letter, just like the rest. No one could know the undergoing process.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was knocking on Ryan’s door. Her foot was impatiently tapping, waiting for him to come out. His house was huge, and he only lived with his parents (Yeah, he still lived with his parents at the age of 35. I know, right?), so he was the perfect person—not too old, not too young, and an easy victim, despite the noise. No one seemed to be home. She decided to wait until nighttime.

At home, Elizabeth was reading. Well, trying to. At least the book she was reading was on cannibalism, right? But she was too nervous to focus. She thought it would be easy, at least for the person she loved most, but her heart started racing. She closed the book, and the title flashed in her eyes—Fables, Ancient and Modern. She was so out of it. The book wasn’t even on cannibalism! She decided to change into a black dress, to be ready for later. Sighing, she looked out at the sun. It had hardly been an hour, the sun just peeking into her window. She wanted to visit Theodore and Mary, she really did, but she knew he would be mad to see her.

I can imagine it now, she thought to herself. “You should be ashamed of yourself! You aren’t providing the food for your fiance like you should be! Where is the ‘Ryan Robbins’ you talked about? He should be ‘assisting’ you right this very second! Leave!”

She saw her fiance’s quartz complexion, baby Mary’s slightly darker skin behind, pointing at her olive self. The dimly lit room, so much detail as to the rain drizzling out the thin glass window. Elizabeth felt a tear slide down her cheek, followed by more. How real this was, she realized. Did she really love him?

“No.” A voice said.

Elizabeth’s head snapped up, “Who was that?”

“Just the ‘witch.’ You don’t love him, but you’ll do ‘it’ for him anyway. Yes, before you ask any questions, I can read your mind. Yes, I am a witch. Yes, I am a time traveler. Yes, I know what you’re going through because I’ve gone through it before. Yes, the exact same thing including killing someone for cannibalism. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I want to help you so you don’t make the same mistake.”

“Who?” Elizabeth wiped her tears away, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, what?” The witch stepped closer.

“Who did you do it for, who did you kill, who are you?”

“I did it for my wife, I killed Ryan Robbins (a different one), and I’m Rayne.”

“You had a wife and you’re a girl?”
“There’s a thing called gay, you only like your gender. I’m gay. Well, technically pansexual, but I won’t get into that. I’m also non-binary, so not in the gender binary, aka not male or female. Anyway, back to you. No matter what I say, you’re still gonna do it. So come talk to me after. I’ll be here when you get upset.” Rayne put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“Were you cursed with floof?” Elizabeth sniffed, and Rayne stifled a laugh.

“Yes. Someone centuries ahead of me did the same thing. It almost stopped me, but… well, I thought like you, but slower. I hesitated more. And the messages were faster. Like, automatic. But, pretty much the same. I thought it would work better on you, but it didn’t. I’ll have to change my tactic.” Rayne sighed, and opened her mouth to continue, but Elizabeth interrupted.

“Sorry to interrupt, but… who was your wife?” Elizabeth started to feel more confident.

“Her name was Rose. She wasn’t as harsh, and she just wanted to kill him, not eat him, but it was a big mistake. On both of our parts. Yes, he died, and no, neither of us got in trouble. But she’s probably talking to your husband right now. She’s asking him to stop, like I’m asking you. It’s our job now.”

“I’m doing it. Like you said, I’m still killing Ryan. I… I think I love Theodore, so I’m going through with it. If I’m going to, I have to go now. The sun has almost set, and I need to strike, no matter the floof.” Elizabeth stood up, slipping a small dagger up her sleeve.

Almost immediately after she did so, she heard a knock on her door. A man stood there, looking tired. He handed her a pamphlet, and spotted Rayne in the back. He explained that he was openly campaigning, and gave a summary of the pamphlet. Leaving, he said, “It’s 1800, ladies, tell your husbands, ‘vote for Burr!’”

Elizabeth, walking behind him, shouted, “No, thanks! I don’t care how approachable others say you are, Theodore’s going to vote for Jefferson!”

“Lady, then, tell your husband!” Aaron Burr turned around.

“I’m not a lady! There’s a thing called non-binary in the future! Where people decide to not be male or female!” Rayne shouted, trying to act angry while stifling a laugh.

“Good riddance,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, knocking on the door of Ryan’s house (well, technically his dad’s house, but same thing. He would inherit it, anyway. That is, if he wasn’t a total failure in life. He was, though, so his dad would probably give it to literally anyone but him…). Anyway, no one answered, as Elizabeth had suspected. His parents were out, and she could tell because their carriage was gone. Locks didn’t exist in the 1800s, as some of you readers might know, and you might just say to yourself, “robbers are gonna get caught, so they’re safe anyway,” but, unluckily for Ryan, that wasn’t the case. Elizabeth opened the door, and calmly walked inside. She was wearing the black dress, one she had from her mother’s funeral. It was tight fitted, but still the best thing she had to sneak around the house. Her frilly dresses would definitely not work, with all the bright colors and sound. Anyway, she walked in, and immediately blew out all the lamps in sight. She couldn’t be seen by Ryan, otherwise he would… scream for the nearest house? There weren’t any for miles, so, he wouldn’t really do anything. But Theodore told her that he likes the taste better when they were taken by surprise, and she wanted the best for her love.

She crept up the stairs, where she heard Ryan snoring loudly. It was so loud, it covered up all the creaks as she climbed up the steps slowly. She reached his door, which was already open, luckily for her. Walking in, she saw he was turned away from her, his short brown hair in a mess, although it was super short except for the top (Elizabeth couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a super short mohawk, or just was supposed to look really weird).

Good, she thought, and tiptoed closer, pulling her knife (pronounced ka-neef-ay) out of her sleeve. She somehow heard the rustle over his noise, so she thought her senses were on high alert. But then she realized that his snoring had not only quieted, but changed in sound. Was he smart enough to know she was there? Elizabeth didn’t think so, but she wanted to be careful anyway.

She crept up to his bed. He was covered in silk. It would be such a shame to ruin this, she thought, but it was too late to turn back. Besides, she couldn’t not do it just for silk. Her life was on the line! She smacked herself in the head. Why had she not told Rayne that? Rayne would have understood better if she had! Ugh! And then she almost smacked herself again. Ryan was staring at her and her knife (still pronounced ka-neef-ay), eyes wide.

“WHO THE F*** ARE YOU‽” He screamed. Loudly. Like, really loudly, louder than his real and fake snore combined.

“You were supposed to not know I was here! Ugh. Can you turn around and pretend like I’m not here? I’ll wait until you’re asleep. Or until your parents are coming back. You need to be taken by surprise!” Elizabeth said, in a rush. I mean, what was she supposed to say?

“WHAT THE F***!!! NO!!! ARE YOU STUPID!!!”

“Look who’s talking,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

“What did you just say?” Ryan was suddenly angry, but in a different way than before. His voice was (somehow) really deep, and his face was all squished up. It looked uglier than before, which seemed impossible to Elizabeth (and me).

“You are 35, and still living with your parents. You must be stupid. Also, why are you cursing? It isn’t proper.” Elizabeth kept going with insults. She had just remembered that Theodore could never tell the difference between a surprised meal or an angry one.

“Cursing isn’t proper? You’re coming to kill me, and you’re telling me that cursing isn’t proper?” Ryan smirked with disbelief, even while he was about to be killed. He’s crazy, right?

“Well, I’m not saying killing is proper, because it isn’t, but cursing isn’t either. Anyway, I’m going to kill you now. Also, I didn’t think it was possible for you to be uglier, but with your face all scrunched up like that, I was clearly wrong.” Elizabeth pointed at his face in a disgusted manner, and walked towards him, knife (ka-neef-ay) pointing towards his chest.

Ryan got really, really angry at that, and jumped at Elizabeth. He was obviously stupid, because he forgot about the knife (ka-neef-ay), and jumped right onto it. Needless to say, not only was he angry, but he was also taken by surprise, making Ryan taste the best for Theodore. The knife (ka-neef-ay) also said “FLOOF!!!”

Ryan saw her smile as he died, and said, “I have the honor to be your obedient servant… R dot Rob—” through gritted teeth, but his voice died off as he did. It was to annoy her, because he knew how many letters she sent (a lot, most to Theodore, and some to Theodosia, her friend), and thought it would annoy her, but it just made her smile more.

Bowing, Elizabeth sang to him (like the way it’s sung in Hamilton) “I have the honor to be your obedient servant! E dot John.” Elizabeth only said the first syllable of her last name to match Ryan, and because it sounded better. She cut him up quickly, forgetting about Rayne entirely. The knife (still ka-neef-ay) sounded not like a lot of loud floofs, but like “F-F-Fl-Floo-F-F-Floo…” because it was getting interrupted.

She wrapped him up in the sheets quickly, ignoring the silk. She tied the top, and brought the bloody pieces over to her house. Rayne was waiting there, along with who Elizabeth assumed was Rose, and Theodore. Rose had long, blonde, curly hair, and was wearing the same sort of gadgets as Rayne.

“You already did it?” Theodore asked, stepping forward.

“Yeah, you a**hole. Here’s your ‘food,’ you monster.” Elizabeth stopped smiling, and threw Ryan’s remains at Theodore.

“I shouldn’t have done it. I—”

“You what? You love me? You want the best for me? You shouldn’t have f***ing threatened me?! Well, guess what? You can get out of my f***ing house, turn yourself into the police, and leave me alone! Give me Mary, too! Or did she die?!” Elizabeth threw up her hands, flooded with emotion.

“Yes. She’s de—”

“Of course! You took everything away from me for your stupid ‘meat!’ I don’t want to see you ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

Theodore turned away, and started towards the door. “I’m sorry…” He whispered.

“I don’t f***ing care! Get the f*** out! And take the rest of Ryan with you, too, you cannibal!” As Theodore left, Elizabeth let out a sigh of relief.

“You didn’t have to do that…” Rose whispered.

“I did. And I did it because of you two. Thank you.” Elizabeth turned towards Rose and Rayne.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Rayne stepped towards Elizabeth.

“I am, too. Theodore was more messed up than me!” Rose said, making everyone smile, even if just a bit.

“Goodbye,” Rayne said.

“See you on the other side,” Elizabeth replied, and with that, Rose and Rayne flickered out of existence.

The Beast

Something was in my room. The wardrobe doors opened and out it came. I froze as the huffing noises grew close. The beast was taller than a bear; its head scraped the ceiling as it walked even closer. I took a deep breath trying to calm myself, only to choke on the horrible odor. I closed my eyes, squinting hard while pinching myself making sure what I was seeing was real. I opened my eyes and there it was, now standing directly over me. Tears slid down my face. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My dad was home. 


The Monster

The beast’s most striking feature was its sunset orange fur, like flames licking at the sky. The color flickered as it sped past my face. I stepped back, slipping on a cold puddle of gray liquid and falling onto the cold stone floor. The creature, which I am temporarily referring to as a midset, took my fall as an opportunity, pouncing on me and placing its large, circular foot on my chest. 

The midset arched its back, spikes shooting out of the yellow-red hair that extended throughout its body. I wondered if that was to threaten me, or perhaps a hostile indicator that it was preparing to attack. 

There was nothing particularly frightening about its features. It had a long, drawn out nose that resembled something between an elephant’s trunk and an aardvark’s snout. It sniffed at my shirt, giving me a better view of its beady blue eyes, like buttons stitched onto orange fabric. Its pupils were miniscule, and I surely wouldn’t have noticed them if they hadn’t been a sickly, swamp-like green. 

I observed this in about two seconds, shrieking all the while. Startled, the beast jumped up, it’s stomach glinting in the dim moonlight that seeped in from what seemed to be nowhere. It seemed to shimmer, glittering in a way that a cat’s fur would not. Similar to how glass could reflect light. 

The midset pawed the ground, its four stubby legs seeming like they should collapse under the weight of its body. Its heart-shaped nostrils widened, and it let out a scream that perfectly mimicked mine, albeit ten times louder. I writhed on the floor, whimpering, adding to the amplified sound of my agony. 

It bounded towards me, and I jumped to the side, catching only a glimpse of its small tail, sphered, like a bunny’s. It spun to face me with uncanny grace, and my screaming once again filled the cave, louder still. My ears must have been bleeding as I crumpled to the ground. The beast approached me slowly, and I couldn’t tell if it had stopped the horrid sound or if I’d gone deaf. 

In that moment, while I could not hear, I noticed strange things about the midset. It had human ears atop its head, acting like flat horns. They were the only things not covered in that orange fur, and yet, as I watched, that orange fur wasn’t so orange anymore. It deepened to a sudden crimson, then a passionate blue, spotted white. Finally, it turned midnight black, its eyes an ominous lavender. 

Those captivating purple eyes were the last thing I saw of it as the midset disappeared, melting into the cave walls. 


Art School

Ten days. Ten days of having a fire burn through my brain as my teachers go through course expectations and how you’d get a detention if you were late three or more times in a quarter (I really don’t want one). And then there were the early quizzes and the English in-class writings, and, and—

(Breathe, Frances. You’re trying to make art here.)

It’s Friday night, and even though I begged my mom that I shouldn’t, I’m leaving my giant pile of homework for Saturday so that I can “do fun things to calm down my head.” The problem is, how can I calm down my head if I’m a junior now? After all, juniors have much more responsibility than sophomores and freshmen. Maybe the seniors, too. But I did want to calm down my head, though. I’m tired of all the headaches, nausea, and rushed breathing that I’ve been having since I graduated middle school, when not even my good grades could guide me through this anxious new life called high school. I just want serenity to drown my mental fire until it’s nothing but pure smoke. 

So here I am, sitting in front of my desk, desperately trying to keep the Saturday homework shut out from my brain as I think up what to draw. Maybe I could do my dog, Pippin, who’s been so loyal to me in trying to keep me sane all these years. Maybe I could do the sunset that’s sitting outside my window, the pinks and blues swirling together like a peaceful melody trying to calm down all the pain I’ve been going through. With a careful look at the beautiful sky, the small 5% of happiness in my body is flying in all sorts of directions, telling me that this is what I should draw. Yes! This sunset is the way to true peace!

I take a picture of my new peacemaker for reference, and that’s when I begin to create. As the tips of my colored pencils touch the paper, my extremely small happiness grows so big, my brain lights up not in a fire of fear, but in shiny rays declaring to the world, “Frances has found something to feel good about! She’s in her happy territory!” 

And it’s true. I am in my happy territory. Never in three years have I begun to feel so normal. Maybe if I keep fixing and coloring my sunset, all my problems will wash away into the sea and never come back to haunt me again.

***

I don’t understand why happiness can’t last forever. How can something so beautiful run away from you and be so reluctant to come back home?

It’s already Saturday, and my giant pile of homework is awaiting me on my desk, and I bet you that in just seconds it’ll be ready to tear me apart. But I have my first physics test on Monday that I can’t avoid, and so I have to start studying for that.

It’s when I try to get my index cards from my desk drawers that the fire returns again, this time consuming my stomach until there’s ash inside. And then as I begin writing flashcards, the fire heads up my esophagus and up to my head, roaring in a mighty fury, “You’re a failure! With that head of yours, you’ll never be a success! Hope you’re okay with a D on that test!”

And from the ashes come the nausea. I race to the bathroom, tears and screams just about ready to shoot out of my body. I throw up leftover breakfast into the toilet and flush it down, thankful that some of the pain is out of my system. However, the rest of the pain that’s still there throws me to the ground, and my head spirals and spirals like a rollercoaster until I can’t gain a sense of what’s going on.

It is my mom who eventually finds me. “Sit up, Frankie girl,” she coos to me, wrapping me in a soothing embrace that I wish to stay in forever. Safety wraps me in its warm, soft blanket. “It’s okay. Cry,” it whispers to me. And so I do. 

“Momma, momma,” I whimper, “I’m a failure. I’m gonna fail.”

“Absolutely not,” my mom replies. “Over the years, every single teacher has told me that despite all you’ve been through, you’ve been doing so great in school. You’re definitely not going to fail.”

“But what if I do?” That’s when the tears fall faster and faster like a mighty river. “Then I can’t leave eleventh grade. I’m gonna be trapped here forever.” 

My lungs can sense this fear, too, and they start moving up and down in a frenzy of fear. 

“I need you to take a break, Frances,” my mom continues, stroking my soft hair. “Until your brain calms down. In the meantime, I’ll go make you some chamomile tea.”

I head over to my bed, my overwhelmed body sinking into a sea of pillows and bedsheets. I’m just done. Why does the world have to pile itself onto me when I’m only sixteen and still technically a child? Just that alone makes me want to cry in a dark hole and never come out.

As I’m beginning to adjust myself under the covers, I can see my sunset sitting on the floor next to my backpack, calling my name. “Frances. Come, come. Remember me? I make you feel better.”

“I’m deeply sorry, dear friend,” I explain to my picture, “but I just feel too terrible to get out of bed. I mean, I’ve just had a panic attack for crying out loud!”

“Trust me, Frances. You need to do something to get yourself out of that awful state of yours.”

I think for a little while. I remember all the joy that was exploding in my body as I was scribbling those brilliant colors on the page and how peaceful I felt. How…okay I was.

“Alright, then, Sweet Sunset. I’ll try.”

Slowly, I rise from my bed, and as the sunshine outside encourages me to keep going, my body begins to recover from the wave of anxiety it went through. I zombie walk to my desk and sit down in my chair, the cool wood relaxing my body even further. As I continue coloring, the happiness immediately returns, shouting a quick hello as it walks through the mental door. 

My sunset and I start up a conversation as I continue with my art journey, and that’s when it starts with the questions. “Why are you so scared all the time?”

I sigh. I really don’t want to go through this, but my sunset’s a close friend of mine, so why not? I slowly begin my story.

“Well, I wasn’t always like this. I had friends, I was doing art all the time, and I was just a happy kid. But like, with high school coming, I started freaking out over it. I shooed my friends away and hid myself from the world. I mean, this anxiety came to me naturally, that’s all.”

My sunset brightens in a spark of curiosity. “Are you sure?” it asks. “You look really bad to me. There’s got to be more to this.” 

Oh God. I really don’t want to go further with this. I take a deep sigh, my stomach bubbling up. “Well one day, my dad died in a car accident.” That’s when the tears start flowing out of my eyes. “It was awful when he died. He helped me cope with going into middle school. I try to remember him by sketching his face into my sketchbook. But I just doesn’t look right. It hurts so bad when you can’t remember someone you love.”

“I bet. You loved him very much. When did this emotional stuff start coming?”

I dry my tears until my face is a hot, sticky desert. “Well, soon after he died I became really depressed, and I was even more anxious when ninth grade began. The worst part is, no one except my mom knows about this stuff, because I worry that everyone’ll make fun of me. Like, I do pretty good in school, but it’s really hard when you have to push yourself through all your problems to be successful.”

My sunset appears to darken, feeling pity for what I’ve been through. That’s when it decides to give me an idea. “What if,” it begins, “I can help you be happy in school?”

What? Happy? In school? This doesn’t make sense! How can I be happy when I’ve got so much happening in my life?

“I know. This sounds really weird. But you’re happy with me, right? What if you bring that happiness into your school day? It’s important for the sake of your well-being, Frances. Maybe it can help you with that terrible fear of yours.”

Well, I’ve always wanted to be happy, and my pain has prevented me from doing so. And with happiness comes peace, too, doesn’t it?

Wait a minute, no. What am I thinking? There’s no way I can be happy in school! I’ve got tests and essays and other things going on in my life! There’s so many things to do and so little time to do it! 

“No. No,” I say. “It’ll never work. I’m scared almost every day to the point where I can’t think straight! I can never be happy!”

“Don’t fall for the negativity, Frances! That’s what anxiety does to you! But if you’re positive, it can benefit you exponentially!”

I can feel my sunset reaching for my hand, trying for my trust. “I don’t know, Sweet Sunset,” I mumble. “It might never work.”

“Just believe me, Frances,” my sunset responds. “Let’s just try it. It could work.”

I sit and think for a while. Well, I have been doing well so far this year, and it’s only September. And I do want to be happy. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.

I tell my sunset of my approval for the plan. It lights up in a neon rainbow and reassures me once again that everything will go well. 

***

I begin my Monday morning rising from my bed, letting the warm sunshine sprinkle onto my face. “Good morning, beautiful sun,” I whisper. “Thank you for making such a gorgeous day.”

I get dressed, fix my hair and brush my teeth with beams of light shining in my brain, further telling me that this day will be absolutely great. And who knows? Maybe this will be a great day! I’ll ace that physics test and continue to bring my can-do attitude throughout the rest of this year!

I continue on through the yellow brick road of felicity as I eat my breakfast and hug my mother goodbye (she looks really surprised with my new disposition) as I grab my backpack and head out the door, greeting the day with a radiant smile that shines onto the whole world.

I skip to my bus stop in glee, where other kids just look at me and then move on with their lives. I don’t really care, though, as I wasn’t always the popular kid. In fact, I’m glad I’m not the popular kid, because I don’t want all my classmates to see me fall apart—

(Frances. You’re supposed to be positive here. Just calm down. Look! The bus is here!)

Once the doors to the bright yellow vehicle open, I’m the first one to head on and quietly say good morning to the driver before sitting in my seat. While we head on our way to school, I try my very best to ignore the screaming and the chitter-chatter that normally pierces my brain. Then I look at the sky, which looks exactly like my beloved drawing, bringing me to a state of serenity. “Thank you,” I tell it.

***

I walk into class like I’m a physics major, ready to put my pencil onto the test and write down everything from my brain. Nothing much happens during these five minutes as I sit down and breathe, except Kelsey from nearby asks me for a pencil, which I give to her.

And then the big moment happens. Mrs. Shaw begins to hand out the test to every kid in the classroom. I sit up straight in my desk, reassuring myself that I studied basically day and night for this, so what could go wrong?

Before I realize it, it is my turn to get the test. I write my name in my typical curlicue handwriting and head straight for the questions. 

The first portion of the test is a fill in the blank. My mind suddenly freezes at the very first question. “When the mass of an object doubles, the kinetic energy also…”

What in the world is the answer? Does it double? Triple?

I tell myself to calm down and let my brain come up with the answer. I eventually realize that kinetic energy doubles and bubble in the answer.

Then the next question asks me what happens to kinetic energy as an object goes up a hill. Doesn’t it increase since the object needs more energy to go up? No, no, no!

(Frances, just skip it and come back.)

But then the third question is even worse. “Although kinetic energy has been known to exist before 1849, who first came up with the actual term?”

No. No. No. 

Kelvin? Newton? Darwin? (Wait, Darwin wasn’t a physicist!)

And suddenly, the hurried breathing comes back. This—this—this doesn’t make sense! I studied so much! Why is this happening to me? I’m supposed to be acing this! 

My mind starts running in circles, and it takes only seconds before it struggles to breathe, too. And then Mrs. Shaw sees that something is obviously wrong with me and walks over to my seat.

No. No one can see me like this. Absolutely no one.

“Frances?” Mrs. Shaw asks soothingly. “Are you okay? Why don’t you take a quick breather and come back?”

I don’t respond with a single word. I slowly rise from my seat and walk out the classroom door. I sit against the wall and breathe heavily, hot tears ready to fall out of my eyes. 

“Why now?” I mumble. “I’m supposed to be okay. This happiness thing is all a big lie.”

I feel just at the peak of crying, yet I remind myself not to because that will only get in the way of my success (Will I be successful?). Once I calm myself down, I head back into class to continue the test. 

But things don’t continue as swimmingly as I wanted them to be. Each question is only a jumbled mystery in my brain that I can’t unravel, and although I try my hardest to answer them, I can see my success on this test ready to collapse.

Right as the bell rings, I hand in my poorly done assessment. I walk out of class wishing I didn’t have to go to English, even though it’s one of my favorites. The hallways and the kids around me are all nothing but a sea of blacks and grays, and all I want right now is to run outside and just ignore everything around me. 

***

It is 3:15 when I storm through the front door, completely ignoring my chef mother who’s making snacks in the kitchen. “Hey, sweetie!” she calls enthusiastically. “How’d it go?”

I don’t want to talk to her. Not now, not ever. I just can’t bear to remember the failure I was today, sitting at my desk barely unable to come up with a good answer.

I race up the stairs to my room, where I flop onto my bed and sob so harshly that the sunshine outside my window can’t bring me out of my despair. 

Can I drop out of school? I don’t want to go back there ever again! Heck, can I stay in my own house forever? Or maybe I can run away into the woods and live amongst the creatures so that I don’t have to encounter this evil world. Maybe—maybe—

I can’t. Stop. Breathing. That’s when the screams, the headaches, and the nausea come. I spin around in circles which leaves my head in a frenzy. No. No. I’ll never graduate. NEVER.

And then without thinking, I head to my desk.

Failure.

I stare at my wondrous friend, Sweet Sunset, who tells me to not fret and that he’ll come help me.

You’ll never be happy. Not in school, not EVER.

Maybe my brain is right. Nothing will make me happy. After all, everything is changing. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m sixteen years old and am two years away from graduating high school and heading off into the real, terrifying world. If I ever graduate.

I give up. I can’t do this no longer.

Do it, Frances. Do it.

I pick up my sunset from my desk. “You idiot!” I sob. “You never did anything for me! Look at me! I’m a mess! I’M A MIGHTY AWFUL MESS, LET ME TELL YOU!”

I hear footsteps racing through the hall, and I bet that it’s my mom. But before she or anyone can stop me…

I begin to tear my creation apart. I rip it into shreds, little bits of ugly snowflakes hastily falling to the ground.

My mom races through the door and yells at me to stop. “No! No!” I yell back. “I’m a mess! I’m a mess!”

And then before I know it, all the snow is laying on my bedroom floor, every pink and blue hue a sad nothing. 

I stand there, shocked and horrified at what I’ve done. Me, a messy, broken failure. I can barely do anything but stare at my bedroom clock. It’s 3:18. How could something so terrible happen in such a short time?

My mom wraps me in a hug and tells me that everything’s okay. But it’s not. 

The regret seeps into me, black tar trying desperately to poison my body. And it works. I feel so much shame, so many terrible feelings. 

What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?

***

Almost every single person I know waits anxiously until Friday, when they can choose whether or not to study that day (most likely the latter) and just be a teenager again. Not me, or at least throughout this week. I can’t help but look out at the sky and remember what a horrible fool I am for the mess I made that terrible Monday. Every class and every lunch period involves me sitting in my seat, my eyes staring at a bottomless nothing as the world flies by without me. And whenever I do have time, I hide in the bathroom stall and sink my head down, my heavy brain letting the tears flow until my eyes become a sorrowful, gloomy desert.

Today is the day everyone was waiting for, but I don’t care. I’m sitting alone as I normally do at my typical lunch table when I hear footsteps around me. “Hey, Frances.” 

It’s Kelsey. Oh God. I can’t have her see me like this.

“You okay? Can I sit with you?”

I can’t bear having Kelsey’s kindness bear down on me when I’m such an awful mess. I reply sharply, “Leave me alone.”

Kelsey doesn’t budge. She sits right down anyway, putting her loving hand on top of my shoulder. “You sure? You seem really depressed.”

That’s it. I had enough. 

I throw Kelsey’s hand off my shoulder like it’s a cloth toy and look at her straight in the eye with a face just like the devil. “CAN’T YOU SEE, KELSEY?!” I scream. “I’M A MESS! A HORRIBLE MESS! CAN’T YOU JUST RESPECT THAT?!”

Kelsey appears stunned by my sudden meltdown. “You’re right,” she whimpers. “I’m sorry.” As she stands up to leave, a salty sea of tears begin to form in her eyes.

But just when I’m finally alone again, even more footsteps begin to come up behind me. “Frances? You want to talk?”

That voice sounds so familiar, yet it’s a voice I really don’t want to hear. I turn around and see our school counselor, Mrs. Pugh. But why do I need to talk? All I want is to be alone! Why doesn’t anyone get that?

“I don’t want to,” I reply stiffly.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure Kelsey felt bad by what you said. Maybe we can talk about how you feel.”

“Why do I need to talk about how I feel? She didn’t get that I had to be alone! I had to tell her! I’m a sick monster, after all!”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, my door’s always open. Just try to think about your actions for a bit.”

And once again, I’m finally alone. Thank God for that, because I don’t need help from anybody! Not Mrs. Pugh, not Kelsey, NOBODY! They can’t help me to be okay! I will never be okay! 

After all, if I can’t find happiness, then why do I need help to seek it?

***

It’s already 3:00, and all I want is to sink into my bed and never get up. 

That’s exactly what I do when I sulk up the stairs and into my bedroom. The sunshine is brighter than ever, yet I don’t bother to give a quick hello to it. Then, when I pass by my desk, I notice something recognizable: a pile of my torn-up artwork—my broken regrets—sitting right next to a note from my mom:

Just in case you wanted to keep it. It’s still beautiful to me.

Love you, Frankie girl.

Mom <3

Who cares? It’s nothing but a shredded mess now, so what can I do about it? All my happiness is smaller than a microbe. 

I head over to my bed and hide under the covers, my black and gray world getting even darker. My brain becomes a thirty-five pound weight, and a raincloud of sorrow ties me up like it’s kidnapping me. It hurts so much to even stare at a wall. When the pain becomes too much, I close my eyes.

But just as I am in the midst of my extreme melancholy, I hear a whisper so tiny not even a person with perfect hearing could listen to it. “Frances. Frances…”

I open my eyes at the sudden recognizing of my dead friend. “Sweet Sunset?” I mumble, just at the point of crying. “You’re still alive?”

“Well, not exactly,” my torn-up sunset responds. “But I can still talk to you, which is still really important. But why are you there? What’s wrong?”

And that’s when I lose it, crying without any end in sight. When I do eventually calm down, I tell it all my regrets and all the horrible events that happened to me since then. 

“Poor girl,” says my sunset in a voice with a melancholy almost as big as mine. “I wish you weren’t so miserable. But even though you can’t change the past, you can always make things better in the present. With that in mind, Frances, you can find happiness.”

“What? But how?” I croak, confused by what I just heard. “I’ve tried, and I failed. I’ll just live and die unhappy, I guess.”

“No, you won’t. Come. Get out of bed and walk over to me.”

I do exactly what I am told to do, even though I am 1,000% sure that I probably shouldn’t be listening to my spirit friend. Has he gone mad? I don’t think he even knows what he’s saying! Happiness doesn’t exist for me anymore!

But here I am, at my desk. Here we go…

“So, what do you want me to do?” I ask.

“Take me and go make something beautiful.”

My confusion becomes so big that it squeezes my brain really hard and latches on to it. I’m still pretty sad, and with a heavy brain, how can you make something beautiful? 

But at the same time, some of the depression has dissipated to the point where there’s some space for trying again, so why not?

I pick up two pieces from my beloved sunset, and as my mind spirals with possible ideas, my depression disintegrates even further to the point where it’s basically nothing.

And then, like a miracle happens, I have an idea. 

I search through my closet for empty hangers I don’t need and take a white one. Then I rush over to my art station in the right corner and picked out some yarn, tape, and my pink scissors. There. Now I have everything I need.

I head over to my desk and begin creating. I snip shapes and tape things onto yarn and hang those yarn pieces onto my hanger. I even smile and giggle while I do so (Isn’t that funny?). And then I finally have a yarn-paper waterfall full of yellow-orange suns, pink hearts, and blue moons. I even added some colored ribbon to it, adding a bright rainbow to my glorious creation. 

I hang my piece onto my closet door and step back to look at my work. And to be honest to you, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. It reminds me of a child’s mind, filled with color and life and silly childish nonsense. And then memories of my happy childhood start running up to me and begging for my attention. I used to keep them away, as I wasn’t the happy kid I used to be. But I think now I can let them in my brain, and so I do.

Wow. Why do I feel so…so…happy

My mom opens the door to my room, and I tell her to be careful. “Why so?” she asks.

I point to my beautiful work on the wall. She gasps as if she’s looking at an Alexander Calder piece, only more innocent than innovative. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, Frankie girl,” she exclaims, hugging me in an embrace that feels like warm joy. “How were you able to do this?”

“Just…creativity,” I respond. And then I suddenly find myself crying tears of joy. It’s so weird, yet I don’t care. “Momma, I want to be happy.” I whisper. “In fact, I will be happy. I’ll try.”

My mom hugs me even tighter, probably as a thank you for what I just said. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear for years,” she replies.

***

I go to Mrs. Pugh first thing after school Monday. She gives me a warm, loving smile when I go into her office, which welcomes me rather than stabbing me. I sit and talk about all the issues I’ve had ever since the end of eighth grade and how it was wrong for me to scream at Kelsey on Friday. At the end of it all I cry softly to her, “I think I need help.”

Then I sob harder, my regret for hiding my emotions stinging me to the point where I can’t move my body. Mrs. Pugh touches my shoulders and says, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Frances. It must have been so hard for you to talk about your pain, but I’m glad you did. That way I can help you get better.”

Is this what hope looks like? If so, I’m pretty sure I just found it, and I’ve never felt happier.

Mrs. Pugh tells me that she can meet with me Fridays after school from now on, and I happily accept the request. I walk out of her office brighter than I ever felt, hopeful that my terrible emotions can dissipate to a smoky nothingness.

And just as I am about to walk out of school, I see someone familiar by the trophy display: Kelsey. Normally my terrified brain would force me to run out of the building and never look back, but maybe this time I should say something to her. I walk up to her, and when Kelsey turns around and sees me, her face appears stunned at my presence.

“I know, I know,” I begin, “I probably shouldn’t be here right now. But I have to say this. I’m so, so sorry, Kelsey. I really am. Things were going on with me, and that probably made me all stupid. But I would never hurt you, and I feel really bad for that.”

Kelsey gives me the same loving smile she always gives to people like me. “It’s okay,” she replies warmly. “I understand that you may have been having a rough time. But no matter how I feel, I still forgive you. We all have our rough days. Hey, wanna share phone numbers? Maybe we can hang out sometime this weekend!”

Wow. Never in three years has someone been so nice to me like that. It feels so wonderful to be loved. I say yes immediately, and we both decide to meet for smoothies on Sunday.

***

So many beautiful things have happened these past eleven days. I feel my soul being lifted to substantial heights, and believe me, it’s quite a beautiful thing to feel. I’m no longer a bird desperate to hide in its cage, but a bird who’s really to fly in the sky. I don’t know how the rest of junior year will be, but I know for sure that when a challenge comes, I’ll take it on with might rather than hiding in the darkness.

Speaking of sky, I should probably say something to a very special someone for my sunny disposition. As I walk out of school, I can tell that my sunset can hear me loud and clear. 

“Thank you, Sweet Sunset,” I say out loud without a care in the world. “Thank you for teaching me.”

The End 🙂


Across the Galaxy

Ava

I can’t believe we were so close to Earth! It doesn’t seem real. After all this fighting and escaping and loss we were finally going to make it. I closed my eyes taking a deep breath, waiting for the pod to say, “Landing now,” or “You have arrived.” I looked to Arin and she was staring out the window. I felt sweat drip down my neck. I started to fan myself all of sudden feeling a bit hot. Soon beads of sweat started to pour down my forehead. My head started to throb from the heat. It was getting hot and my face felt on fire. I held Arin’s hand scared for what could happen next. My whole body was hot and it felt like I was getting lowered onto flames. Something wrong was happening.

Arin

This is the moment I have been waiting for for days. Should I believe that it’s happening? Sometimes when you want something for so long or so badly when it actually happens you have no idea how to react. Almost seems too good to be true. Until… it was too good to be true. We squeezed our hands together. My forehead starts dripping with nervous sweat. We were getting hot, like slowly walking near a bonfire. Ava mentions the escape pod might be burning up. I squeezed my eyes tight, I felt like we were so close. Why does this have to happen? We worked so hard it’s not fair. A tear rolled down my cheek. 

“ Oh no,”  I said under my breath.

Ava 

I got up from the seat in the escape pod and looked out the window flames that were engulfing the windowsill. There was a crash and I jumped back as the window burst shattering glass all over the floor. I slowly stepped back seeing the flames spread throughout the inner wall of the pod.

“WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! EVACUATE! EVACUATE!” the escape pod was blaring red lights but there was nothing to do. We had to wait as the flames crept to us like a wolf hunting its prey. I practically felt the flames leaping at my face, I started to cry my eyes wide as the bright orange flames surrounded my body. Suddenly I lurched forward as I felt a falling motion. We were moving fast and me and Arin hit the wall as we spiralled out of control. I closed my eyes wishing this was all done, that this feeling would go away. Then there was a crash, a big thud. I hit the side of the pod then tumbled out feeling the cool pavement, A dark screen fielded my vision and then everything went black. 

Arin

I gradually opened my eyelids. My head felt like it was just hit with a long metal pole. As I slowly tuned in to my surroundings and focused my eyes, I  saw that I was finally not on the toxic planet of Niburus. We have no chains no bandages, we were free. It was getting dark, I expect almost 9:00pm, the sky was grey and a storm might be coming. There were many old abandoned buildings. My knees were scraped from the cracked road. I saw Ava out cold on the pavement. I limped over to her body. This was the closest I have ever been to death, and I have had a gun held up to my head. I felt like my bones were holding on by a thread burning up side my body. I used the last bit of energy and strength to wake Ava up, “Please don’t be dead,” I repeated in my head. I can’t lose someone else.

“A-a-Ava..” I stuttered. I shook her, my muscles tensing up. She coughed and rolled over. 

“Arin, are… you ok?” she whispered. I used all my might to wrap my arms around her scarred body. I gave her a warm embrace after life was almost snatched from us. Sometimes you don’t realize what you have until you lose it, or almost lose it. I just realized how much I needed and cherished Ava. What would’ve happened if we didn’t make it?

Ava

I woke up, my head pounding. I looked up and saw Arin. She had a long cut on the side of her face dripping with blood next to her ear. She had a worried look on her face. As I rolled over coughing up some blood I crawled onto the concrete. I tried to stand up but my ankles gave in and I fell back to the ground. I looked at my cut arms and saw goosebumps rise. It was chilly out and the wind snapped at my face.

“Arin… we need to find shelter,” I said, then coughed again. I looked around then saw a sign made of wood and it was slightly tilted to the side, it said, “WELCOME TO THE TOWN OF SIER!”

Arin

I agreed with Ava, we needed to find shelter. I looked around, THERE!

“Ava, I see an old shed next to that brick building.” I  pointed out.

“Arin I’m not sure I can make it all the way there, my body is aching,” Ava groaned.

“It’s ok I will be right here to help you.” I lifted Ava’s limp arm over my shoulder and we hopped to the other side of the street. The wind was tugging on our hair, and the grey clouds were passing over our heads giving me chills up and down my body. Once we got over to the shed, we sat down on the rough wooden floor. First we needed sleep so we can rest before we decide what to do. I took off the sweaters me and Ava tied around our waist and balled them up for pillows. Ava’s skin looked pale and she had  bloody deep wounds. She looked terrible. I could tell she was trying to keep her eyes open.

“Sleep,” I whispered into Ava’s ear. As Ava dozed off I looked around the shed. I rubbed my hand against the creaky hardwood floor. There was a cracked window, a broken sliding barn door, three hay bails in the corner… A-are those bodies?

Ava

I heard Arin gasp and slowly tap my shoulder, I abruptly sat up. Suddenly the pain came shooting back into my body. I squinted to see in the dark shed but I could make out three figures walking towards us. I tried to shuffle backwards but my ankles still hurt so bad. I sat there waiting for whatever was coming towards us. There was a crack in the roof overtop of us, the moonlight shone down lighting up our face. I heard some toads croaking and the chirping of crickets. I waited as the figures came closer to the light, I waited for them to finally reveal themselves. I looked down as I saw a grey converse enter the pool of light and then the whole person, a raggedy boy with a buzzcut and cold grey eyes. He had dirt and scars all over him and was wearing a navy green T-shirt and dirty beige Khakis. Behind him was a girl. She had long black hair close to her waist, her skin was a light tan color and she had black trimmed glasses. She walked up next to the boy and I saw her jean shorts and yellow tank top. Standing next to the girl was a boy holding her hand. He had golden hair and blue eyes on the side of his arms was a blue tint as well as on his knees. He was wearing a blue shirt and sports shorts. They stared straight at me and Arin, their eyes looked scared.

Arin

“Ava, get behind me.” I stammered, staring back at the three kids.

“So clearly your name is Ava, hi I’m Rose, And you are?” The long black haired girl said as she looked at me.

“How do I know to trust you?” I scowled at her.

“I’m Liam and looking at you it doesn’t seem you just strolled in here, where are you from?” The blond hair boy said.

“Why would I tell you? You are nothing more than three strangers,” I said still sceptical.

“We got kidnapped by aliens, though I don’t expect you to believe us,” said Ava.

“I was kidnapped by them too,” Liam said, sighing, “They even put there serum in me.”

“Why aren’t you one of them then?” I asked. 

“It didn’t work fully.” Liam said staring at the ground.

“Ok, so you’re Liam, you’re Rose, I’m Arin and this is Ava, then who are you?” I stared at the hidden boy in the shadows.

“My name is Hunter.” We were all awkwardly standing in the light of the shed all connected in one way but still complete strangers.

Ava

“Come here, we have some makeshift beds over there,” Liam said pointing to the corner with the hay bales. Me and Arin walked over to the hay bales and saw a bunch of straw piled to make multiple beds. There were trash bags that seemed to be stuffed with grass which were used as pillows and a bunch of old clothes and rags tied together to make multiple blankets. Next to the bed was an old bag which seemed to be filled up with different foods. 

“Ok, you and Arin can share that bed me and Liam will share that bed and Hunter can sleep in that one,” Rose said.

“I guess they’re dating or something,” I whispered to Arin.

Arin

Me and Ava climbed into the pokey hay bed, And I can say that those pillows were not the comfiest pillows I have slept on. I heard Liam whisper, “Night babe.” 

Hunter slowly drifted off to sleep, the moonlight gradually disappeared. The wind was getting softer but the air was getting colder. I took a deep breath and waited for Ava to close her eyes, then I rolled over and released all my stress. 

I was sitting in a cold metal chair. My wrists dripping with blood, bound tight with rope. I was looking down at Ava lying on the floor with Master Malden hunched over her. He was pressing a hot iron rod on her throat, melting her like a marshmallow. She let out a blood curdling scream. 

“Arin, HELP. It hurts so bad…” Her voice was losing power. I tried to break free from the rope but it just burned my wrists causing them to bleed more. I tried to move out of my chair but nothing was working. I-I was trying. Then I heard Ava give a hopeless breath and then, she laid there motionless. 

I shot up in the hay bed panting, I was breaking out in a cold sweat coming down my forehead. It was a nightmare.

Ava

I woke up feeling good, that was the first time in a while that I had had a decent sleep in awhile. I sat up and stretched my arms. As I turned around, I saw Hunter looking in the bag for some food. He took out an old bagel as well as some nuts. He started to take bites of the bagel leaning against one of the hay bales. He looked up and saw me staring at him. He quickly looked back down at his food. I shook Arin awake and she looked up at me groaning. 

“What time is it?” She said rolling back around to go  to bed again. 

“Time for you to get up! Come on, let’s get some food.” I said trying to turn her back around. I got up and walked over to the bag and looked through looking for some food. I grabbed a slice of bread and some salami. I walked back to me and Arin’s bed and gave her some of the bread and salami. 

Finally after everyone ate, we all went outside of the shed. I still ached a bit and was kind of sore but I was able to walk outside, and the fresh air felt nice. 

“So what are we going to do…” I said. 

“Hey Ava remember all the other kids, you know there all going to be turned aliens right?” Arin said.

“And…” I said looking at Arin seeing what she was getting to.

“You want to just leave them there,” Arin said staring straight into my eyes.

I looked at her trying to see if she was joking or not. She wasn’t.

“Arin do you really want to do this, you want to go back and save them?”

“Ava, it’s almost our duty to do this if we could escape then we must be able to help them escape.”

“Well then how are we going to get there? The only way back is that escape pod and it’s really broken,” I said as we all looked over to the broken escape pod which was crashed in the middle of the road. 

“I mean if we tried we would probably be able to fix it or at least make it flyable, maybe there’s stuff inside the ship,” Rose said. I forgot that they were all there and didn’t even think about if they wanted to come or not. Hunter nodded next to Rose. I turned back to Arin.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I said to Arin.

“Yes,” She said. I turned to Rose, Liam, and Hunter.

“I’m in,” Rose said.

“Me too,” Hunter mumbled.

I turned to Liam, he was staring at the ground.

“I know you don’t want to do this because of what they did to you but…”

“Um, I don’t know guys I just… well I just don’t know, I’ll wait to see if you guys can actually fix that escape pod.” 

We all walked over to the ship and started to try and see how we could fix it. Rose was already starting to fix things, she seemed pretty smart and Hunter was listening to her and started reattaching wires. I turned around and saw Liam pacing back and forth looking nervous. Rose noticed Liam and went over to him and started talking, walking off in a hurry. 

Arin 

While we were all preparing the ship, I saw Rose and Liam walked off. He was yelling about going back to planet Niburus. Suddenly horror struck me. Liam was turning into an alien. A transformation that felt like burning metal piercing your skin. He was bending over seething with pain. Liam fell to the ground, skinning his now bright blue knee’s on the street. His head pounding and melting. He opened his teary salty eyes, seeing his skin bleeding profusely, slowly turning blue. Liam’s eyes were bulging out of his skull. He screamed as loud as he could, “Make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!” He couldn’t hear himself over the buzzing noise, feeling like it was bursting his eardrums. 

Liam didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t make it stop, he didn’t know how to. The pain was like nothing he had felt before. 

“Liam, you’re okay, you’ve got this. You are the strongest person I know. Fight it!” Rose screamed, but still muffled by the buzzing. Liam could see through his blurry vision Rose was sobbing. “Liam LOOK AT ME!” Her voice was trailing away as Liam wanted to tell Rose nothing could make it better.

“Rose, let me help!” I said running over to them.

“No! Let me handle this. I’m his girlfriend, I’m the one that’s supposed to be here for him.” She demands.

“Rose, st-stop, stop trying.. AHH UGG!” he suddenly screamed with a shock of pain

“Liam I will fix it, trust me.”

“Rose help me.”

“ I-I don’t know how, but I’m with you.” Rose was losing hope. “Just hold on to my hand, focus on this moment.” 

Liam took Rose’s hand and held on tight. He looked at her in the eye, and took a deep breath. The pain will go away, she said. She told him to wait. He waited, waited for Rose. He didn’t know why he felt the need to wait, I mean it wasn’t going away. But he couldn’t leave—he couldn’t leave Rose. For the first time in a while, he broke the tough screen he had been hiding behind and cried so hard his eyes couldn’t cry anymore. And all Rose said it’s ok.

Ava

Everyday we woke up, everyday we worked more and more on the pod, everyday we went to bed hoping that the next day would be the day where we would finally finish the escape pod, and everyday Liam got more and more anxious of the day to come. 

I went in the straw bed which wasn’t as uncomfortable as before. I laid awake, Rose said that we would be done with the escape pod by tomorrow. I was so nervous, I just couldn’t sleep. What if it didn’t work, or what if we don’t make it and we get lost in space? I wondered what Liam is going to do. I knew how much he doesn’t want to go but maybe he’ll still come, and how are we going to actually save all the children? I forced my eyes closed and waited as the sleep came over me and I finally fell asleep.

Arin

The next morning, we all woke up full of adrenalin. Today was the day, we were going to rescue all those innocent kids. You could feel the emotion in the air. We ate breakfast without a word, silently, slowly, nervous tension began crawling through my body. I tensed up and started breathing rapidly, my heart was pounding. Ava put her hand on my back, she knew I was panicking.  

“It’ll be ok, we are safe, and soon those other kids will be too. We are doing the right thing and we are right behind you.” Ava reassured me. We walked out to the escape pod and we all got in. The sky was clear and spotless, not one cloud to be seen. Me and Ava sat in the two front seats controlling the pod, and Hunter, Liam, and Rose sat in the three back seats. Me and Ava squeezed our hand tight together. Rose was leaning her head on Liam’s shoulder, I could tell Liam was choking back tears. Hunter was looking out the window gagging and coughing, he said he has motion sickness. I pressed one button and that was it “Taking lift off, destination planet Nibirus.”

Ava

I closed my eyes, hoping this would work. I felt nervous but a bit excited. I clicked the button that said “Lift Off.” We waited a second and we heard the sound of the escape pod turn on and then we shot up into the morning sky. The escape pod had left the ground. I closed my eyes as Arin reached forward to press the “Superspeed” button. I held the chair tight and waited until I felt the jolt forward, and then we were off. A minute later, I opened my eyes and saw the darkness around me. There were bright stars and when I turned around, I could see Earth behind us, it looked like a marble slowly shrinking away. I turned to see Liam and Rose cuddling and Hunter was standing next to the window. He almost looked like he was gagging.

“Hunter, are you ok?” I said. 

“Umm yeah just a little bit *gag* motion sick.” He said then turned and stumbled to the bathroom. I looked in front of me and gasped as I saw the planet of Nibirus approaching. We started to slow down as the surface of the planet became more and more clear. The engine started to decelerate we landed softly on the grass of Nibirus.

Arin

One small jerk and we were there. Memories and flashbacks began racing across my mind. Mia, my parents, that little girl behind tortured. Well, this is why we were here, I guess. To save those poor children. We headed straight to the entrance, I whipped out the card that I used a couple weeks ago to escape the building. I locked the door of the escape pod. We ducked over to the door and I swiped my card. Right away, there were two guards. Me and Hunter broke out in a fight. Two minutes later, both guards were down on the ground and I had a bloody nose. Meanwhile Ava, Rose, and Liam were on their way to the kids. Me and Hunter were trying too catch up to them, some more guards at our heels. We only had one key and over 100 children, and barely any time. 

Ava

We ran into the lab. There were tons of children and each one looked depressed and cold. Some of them were crying, and some of them were beating on the walls or trying to figure a way out.

“Hey! How did you get out? that’s not fair!” A girl with short straight hair and a gap in her teeth. All the kids turned towards us there faces surprised.

“Shhh they’ll come back,” Liam said.

“Who?” The same girl said.

“The aliens, they’re going to turn you into them you’ll-you’ll turn into an alien… like me,” Liam said as he showed them the said of his arms which were both a light blue color. All the kids gasped as the saw Liam’s arms. 

“Well how are you going to get us out?” asked a little girl with pigtails and two pink bows.

“With this!” I said as I pulled out the access card. I then began unlocking each cage and more and more kids came out hugging each other, and some crying.

“Now what do we do?” a little boy with brown hair asked.

“Well we need to escape, follow me,” Rose said motioning towards the exit.

Arin

As we were running to the others, six guards came at once. 

“I got these three you get the other ones!” I shouted at Hunter.

I kicked and punched and ran and jumped. Both sides weren’t giving up. A guard punched me in the gut and kicked my face, blood all over the floor. Hunter’s leg was dripping with thick blood. Me and Hunter went back to back and did one move and took 4 out at once. Only two left. I kicked one’s ankle and punched his nose one out, one to go. I looked behind me and saw Hunter finish the last one off. We gave one celebratory high five and ran straight to the cages where the rest were. On the way there we ran into Ava, Rose, and Liam. They were running back with a bunch of kids behind them. 

“To the escape pods!” Liam directed.  

Ava

We burst out of the door and ran towards the market. I turned behind me and saw all the kids running. There were kids of all ages, and we all flooded the streets of Nibirus. Aliens jumped back as kids came near them. I smiled. We were going to make it. Then I stopped, I turned around as I saw Master Maldens personal soldiers were chasing after us. 

“Everyone hurry, were almost to the path and then we can get to the escape pods!” I yelled. We hurried up and made it to the path, the path where Mia died. I held tears back as I remembered when Mia died in the acid, wait that’s it! We have to push the soldiers into the acid. The big doors were ahead of us, we just needed to make it there, then we’d be safe, but no. More soldiers came running through the doors. I stopped frozen.

“Every one on the count of three push them in the acid!” I said loud enough for everyone to hear but not the soldiers.

“ONE,” I yelled.

“TWO,” Arin yelled.

“THREE,” Rose said.

All the kids pushed the soldiers in front of them over into the acid. They began to burn in it and we kept running. Finally we made it to the doors. 

Arin

We all burst through the door.

“I have been in this situation here before…” I said under my breath.

“This time we are safe” Ava whispered grabbing me by the hand. We split up everyone in different escape pods. Me and Ava watched everyone safely get inside the pods and wished Liam, Rose and Hunter good luck. They were leading all the escape pods back to earth. Me and Ava will be the tail of the pack, making sure no one will get left behind. As we were getting into our last escape pod, we heard a cold, harsh voice we recognized. Master Malden was leaning on the wall one leg up like a highschool boy on a locker. He was there the whole time. 

“Go ahead, escape I will give you guys a head start,” Master Malden said with a smirk.

“What? Why aren’t you stopping us?” I replied.

“I’m giving you an advantage, I would take it if I were you.” He was slowly walking toward us.

 “Three, two.” He was counting. Me and Ava quickly go into the escape pod. We closed the door.

“ONE!” We were off.

Ava

I pressed the “Lift Off” button and sped forward, I looked forward. We were all the way in the back to make sure nothing happened to the other pods. We kept going then I heard a blast, I turned to look behind me. A big ship was behind us, I squinted my eyes and saw standing right in the center window was Malden, and the ship, it was shooting, AT US! We kept going and they kept missing but were getting closer. We got closer and closer. The Earth approaching, as well as Maldens ship. I clicked the “Boost All” button. All the escape pods burst forward, we all burst into the atmosphere. The escape pods were getting faster and faster because of the Earth’s gravity. We were so close I could see our shed, we were finally going to make it.

Arin

We were so close. Now was the time, I was shaking. Me and Ava saw everyone else we rescued standing on the ground below us ready for war, weapons, formation, and everything. We quickly approached them and landed on the ground. Goosebumps were rising on my lims. I have never been more nervous for anything. Not even this morning when we were setting free the kids. We rushed to the front of the blob of people. We had the taller ones in the front, shorter in the back. All of us carried weapons we stole from the aliens. Me, Ava, Rose, Hunter, and Liam all hugged as this might be the last time we could hug. Liam kissed Rose on the cheek and shared a warm loving hug (I held back throwing up). Tears were running down all of our cheeks. My eyes were red. This could be goodbye. If this is the end, all we got to, at least we got this far. I had a hole in my stomach, and knew it could only be filled if we won this battle. I was fired up, as determined as a fox about to pounce on a rabbit. We won’t run away, we hide, we will stand here, we won’t move for anything. We saw a big black ship coming straight for us. It was time to fight.


The Septic Eye

Hey my name is Shuji and this is my excellent story about how I got the Septic Eye.

Bye mom, I hope you rest in peace. I am going off to college, I hope I make you proud. I am at my mother’s grave, crying like a wimp. (Well of course I am, it’s my mother. Don’t judge me readers you are not Judge Judy.)

 I walk away with a glum look on my face, sluggish as an obese man that just ran the Iron Man. I pull out my phone and there is a weird Icon on the screen. I look around and think, why is this happening to me? It happens every week, but this time it said we have been watching you for the longest time, I think you are ready.  The confusion on my face then was obvious. A damp white cloth is slapped on my face. Chloroform! THEY WERE TRYING TO CAPTURE ME! I squirmed and tousled but they still got me. You see I’m a strong boy, but not as strong as that beast of a human that had me in his grasp. I got in a truck and I heard movement. 

The leader (Pewdiepie) took off the mask and said, “Welcome to S.H.O. Business.”

“What’s that?” I said with a smirk on my face, trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny, S.H.O. Sacred Hero Organisation. This is what we do when we aren’t posting videos, we save the world.” 

“Ha HA HA HA HA HA HA. You’re funny”

“Anyways we recruited you because you work out, do parkour, are very smart, and are really good at shooting.”

“But what about college? And my dad is gonna die without me, you can’t take me. I am flattered but I can’t do this”

“Who said you had a choice? Guys knock him out!”

 After that 2 weeks of training blindly of what’s going

“Hey guys!”  I say happily, now that I am finished.

“Hey.” Sean said, “And welcome come to the S.H.O., the Sacred Hero Organisation.” 

“I thought your name was Jack?” I say with confusion.

“No that’s just my user name, Jacksepticeye, it is a very common mistake to make.” 

As I look around I see things that you would see in a movie. Like a supercomputer, images of the world and a weird picture with a floating eye that looks like a Septiceye named Sam. My thinking becomes corrupt and my mind is like a black whole taking away my memories and I feel my conscious walking into the darkest part of my mind. I feel a hand grasping my shoulder and it’s Sean, but he has no eyes, a bleeding mouth and a slit throat. I close my eyes and I’m back into reality. I notice the whole time that the team was shouting my name behind me.

“Shuji! Shuji! Shuji!” They all scream. 

“Get out of there it’s all fake, stop looking!” Markiplier says with a loud voice.

I need to not look at that. But, I think that is what we are looking for so how am I going to do this. Wait I see someone else, who is that? IS THAT?! H2O DELIRIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wait he has a hockey mask on in real life? And no one still hasn’t seen his face except CaRtOoNz? Why don’t people just try to take it off. That’s insane. What should I do? I should probably ask for our mission because we are all standing awkwardly.

“Hey Sean when is our mission?”

“Uhh, I think they are going to brief us right now.”

“Good morning all you bros!” Pewdiepie says to all of us.

“Our mission, it is very dangerous. We are going to to retrieve the SepticEye Sam!”

Everyone shouts with joy and and screams from the tops of their lungs. I do do the same. 

“Yeah, woooh, wahhhhhhh!!!!” I scream with the others.

“Shuji, Sean and Mark you guys are going to do this ultimate mission. Guys celebrate them, give them energy, they can do this, come on!!!!”

“YEAHHHH WOOO AHHHHH!!!” Everyone screams. “YOU CAN DO THIS!!!!”

I smile with joy, like a boy that just found his lost cat from 3 years ago. I actually feel like I can do this. Well no I can’t, but they don’t know that. All they know is that I am ready. I am not going to disappoint them even though I am scared. Probably when I get there I won’t be like a dog in a thunderstorm. 

“So Sean where are the weapons?”

“RIght here, but I don’t need them because of my power.”

“WHAT?! You have powers?”

“Yeah everyone does Mark won’t need them either. You’ll probably develop them later this week.”

“Wait what? What powers?”

“I don’t know Pewdipie said that you need to see something for you to unlock your powers.”

“Uhh.. I am so confused.”

“It doesn’t matter right now we need to focus on the mission, we can ask when we get back.”

“What? You started the convo…”

“SHHHHHHHH let’s go,” Sean says interrupting me.

I get into the hyper car and zoom off. My stomach drops to the bottom of my abdomen like an anvil falling onto an animated character. I’m surprised because we get to the location super fast. It is a weird lab place. (Cliche isn’t it readers? Spoiler, my friend Sean welp he….) I was right, now I don’t feel as unprepared. I have my 2 guns, a Scorpion, and my TMP. I’m ready to defeat these evil guards with these hollow points. Bullets flying, green magic and some fire. I roll into cover. 

“Shuji cover my back I am standing up.”

“Okay Mark let’s do this!”

We are back to back shooting. Headshot. Headshot. Headshot. We are destroying but where is Sean his magic is not flying through the hair. I only see fire in the hair from Mark. Wait he has a gun to his head. Oh no, what do I do. 

I whisper to mark, “They have Sean, what do we do?

“Just follow my lead,” Mark says confidently.

He walks up to the giant muscular guard with his guns in his hands.

“PUT YOUR GUN DOWN OR I WILL SHOOT!”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No.”

Boom. Sean’s brain blows out into pieces. His brains drop onto the ground and are covered in blood. His body drops and eyes turn black.

The guy who got shot him is the guy from my vision. Bop Bop Bop. Mark shoots angrily at the guard’s head and burns his body to ash. People are dead. Everyone here is dead, OMG, what the hell!

“Shuji go in side there are no more guards but security. DO IT NOW!”

“OK,” I say with a worried voice.

I walk into the lab almost throwing up because of all the blood around me. I see the eye. And walk towards it like a moth to a light, walking through the lasers for the mounted guns while dodging consciously. I am at the tube and, my mind, it’s, it’s in Darkness again. I see things that I don’t want to see. I see death itself. The matted black plague in my mind grows stronger taking away what is good and replacing it with evil. 

The eye says, “Death awaits others, have fun.” (Ohhh reader, I love this part. Read carefully.)

This is what I do. I have fun. Breaking the glass I take the eye from the tube and use my knife to gouge out my eye. With the eye in my hand I slice it. Slice it more and more with anger with blood coming out of my eye socket like a blood waterfall gushing with craziness. As I replace this disgusting eye with the Septic Eye, I feel this power and it’s great. I feel it pulsing through my veins and into my hands. It’s like all I need to do is Kill. I need the KILL! Just KILL! I jump out of the building breaking through the roof and find the car. I see Mark. I think that he is now my new victim. It’s time. Time to let the world know who is king!

The Cottage in the Woods

It was a seemingly ordinary day at Camp Lemon, but not for Emilya Collins. Emilya was simply hiking along the Yellow Trail like everyone else, except for the fact that she wasn’t engaging in meaningless chatter like everyone else. No, Emilya was a loner, and she wanted to stay that way. She also had dirty blond hair that she always kept in a tight bun at the back of her neck, and was only four foot eight.

The group halted when the counselors up front did so. At this point, in time and space, the group of middle-aged (by camp standards) campers on the Yellow Trail were supposed to meet the younger campers, by the way of the intersection of the Green Trail and the Yellow Trail, but the younger campers and the Green Trail had seemingly disappeared. 

Since the counselors couldn’t investigate just by themselves, (since that would mean leaving the campers alone) two of the counselors said that they would stay behind on the trail with anyone who wanted to, and two others would take students who wanted to explore (aka look for the younger campers, their counselors, and the Green Trail). Since Emilya preferred small groups to large ones (but she liked to be alone above all), and since less people wanted to “explore,” Emilya joined that group.

Twenty or so minutes after the “explore” group started “exploring,” Emilya got bored. When she thought the coast was clear, she set out to re-find and explore the cute and mysterious cottage she saw around five minutes back. 

Just as Emilya was escaping, she heard a most annoying phrase.

“Halt!” It was Claire Oderr-Clemens, the biggest bully in Camp Lemon. Even the head counselor was scared of her (only because the mad scientist Dr. Oderr-Clemens-Shakespeare-Rowling-Silverstein was her mother, and she threatened that her “explosion-causing mother will hear about this!”) Both mother and daughter were known for blowing things up. When they arrived at Camp Lemon, they planted an explosive in the Nurse’s office that didn’t blow up because, as Claire said, “I just want to scare people.”

Dr Oderr-Clemens-Shakespeare-Rowling-Silverstein threatened to actually blow up the nurse’s office if they expelled Claire.

“What does your uncivilized person want from me?” Emilya grandly replied. Claire got rather red in the face.

“Want to leave with Emily,” grunted Marsha Balonrey, the strongest person in the entirety of Camp Lemon. Due to the threat of Marsha, Emilya warily let them find/explore the house with her.

The walk to the house was peppered with Claire criticizing Emilya’s literary tastes, and Marsha pointing everything out.

However, soon they reached the mysterious cottage. It was small, but probably appeared bigger on the inside, with cute woodwork. It was the sort of place Emilya might want to live herself one day. 

When the rebels approached the cottage, some sort of forcefield froze the bullies in their positions, but they were surprised by the forcefield, so they were stuck in rather ridiculous poses. However, this did not affect Emilya, so she walked on through. 

Emilya adored the tiny little cottage, everything from the Gothic arches, to the fascinating books, and the cauldron on table, until she saw the old hag putting ingredients in aforementioned cauldron. Then Emilya was scared out of her wits.

“Emilya, I know what you want,” the hag croaked. “I know what you need.”

“Who-who are you?” the usually eloquently-tongued Emilya stammered.

“I am Cerona,” the hag answered, “and I can help you, Emilya. I can have an Asgardian spirit eat your enemies for breakfast. I can summon a Linckenlay poltergeist to drive them insane. I can do that Emilya, and so much more. Just say the word.” 

The always-quick Emilya replied, “That’s absolutely ridiculous simply because you never said what the word is. If you’re going to enchant people at least do it right.” The hag looked indignant.

“Little girl, have you any idea of what I can do? The things I know?” Emilya yawned. She looked and sounded bored.

“No. Please enlighten me.” The hag looked even angrier.

“I can send the Earth out of its orbit and into space! I can kill you with the snap of my fingers! You, little girl, need to learn about respect for your God!”

Emilya still looked bored. “I don’t care,” she casually announced. “If you could kill me with the snap of your fingers, you would have already. What do you want?” 

The witch was growing in size, and was slowly getting younger until she was a 25 year-old with her black hair in a bun, and was wearing extravagant, yet simple silken purple robes. She had red-hot, fiery anger in her eyes, and magic in her fingertips. She was all-powerful, and wanted everyone to know it.

“I am sick and tired of your comments, little girl. I had a reasonable price for you: in exchange for me fixing your problems, you would be my assistant for twenty years.” 

Emilya was still unimpressed. “You should be aware that indentured servitude is currently illegal in the United States of America. And hidden prices are common, but frowned upon…”

 Cerona literally had fire in her eyes.  While colors were flying out of her fingers, she chanted an incantation: “Hanf hivobe avilf. Levwe libh vall.”

Now Emilya looked impressed—and terrified. Cerona knew real spells! In her haste, she grabbed the enchantress’ cauldron and oar. Cerona looked frightened.

“Not so powerful now, hag,” Emilya snarkily said. Cerona now looked more angry than scared.

“I am no mere hag, little girl! Give me the cauldron and oar if you know what’s good for you!” 

Emilya now looked rather cocky, with a strange little spark in her eyes. “I don’t answer to hags! All my fear and ignorance was false!” ahe said as colors flew out of her fingers. “I know how magic works! You can only use your cauldron for ‘little’ magic, like making a hiking trail and a dozen people disappear, or for aiding big magic. Spells can only be used to aid big magic, but you can only use spells if you’re powerful enough. You’re a Felleli enchantress,” she said as she donned a scarlet, velvety cape. “The angrier you are, the more power you have. I was getting you angry for a reason, for I am the almighty in the sky, I am the power above, I am your Goddess, and now, with your hard work done, I shall rule the world.”


The Tale of Lillian Becket

Chapter One: The Beginning

Aug 8

My story is a hard one to tell. Most would say to start at the beginning, but isn’t that the least important part? My beginning starts with my parents, who have a tangled history, a history woven with lies and secrets.

My name is Lillian Becket. When I was born, I was far from expected. They called me a blessing, a very surprising blessing. My parents work some secretive job I know very little about. What I do know is ever since I could toddle, only one of them would be around at a time. Often, the dinner table is only half full and food lays cold and untouched. I have my suspicions, but most of them are unrealistic hopes that stir in the safety of darkness and twilight. Whenever I question their absence, I am met only with anger.

I have friends, some as fake as the plastic wind-up toys that sit on my desk. I do have two who understand me, and have for years. Their names are Maya and Dylan. They found me swinging from the old squeaky playground set, after a brutal round of taunting and teasing. Maya, with her kind blue eyes and hip length hair is the one who wraps her arms around me and tells me it is okay to cry until my eyes dry of tears and my heart is satisfied. 

Kyle, with his deep dark eyes and his tight curly hair listens to me and assures me that it will all work out in the end, and that the sadness lingering in my eyes will soon wash away like footprints in the sand.

 We live near the sea. The only place I feel truly safe is sitting by the shore. Salty wind whistling through my tangled hair. That is where I sit now, trying to explain my story in the lined paper of this jet black notebook. Besides the coast, my other safe place is my journal. I can explain myself without interruptions and judgements. So please, don’t ask questions, don’t wonder, just bear with me as I try my best to tell my story. 

So, now that you know a little bit about me, I can begin the middle. 

The middle began on a day much like this one. Clear sky, breeze whistling through the palm trees that line the outskirts of town. When I wake in the morning, nothing seems odd about the way the books are lined straight and ordinary on their bookshelf and the way the clouds dance across the sun. But in the air, a scent lingers, of blood and roses, sweet. Gruesomely sweet. Humidly sweet. And slowly my nostrils flare, registering the discomfort in the air, but dismissing it as quickly as it came.

Like any normal morning, I stretch my arms in wide circles, feeling the soreness sleep has brought to my shoulders.

I have always been a morning person, in that serene time between dawn and when people actually begin to stir.

Tiptoeing down the ice cold stairs, I listen for my mom, or my dad. Per usual, neither are present. I am almost positive that Dad went on an early morning run down the beach, just like every morning. Who knows where Mom is?
I head into the kitchen and grab a bowl and the box of honey cheerios. Filling it with cereal and milk, I turn towards the living room. I sink into the couch, bowl balanced unsteadily on my knee.

I slurp my cereal while the TV blares. The images and light mix together, searing my eyes. The smell of dusty light is embedded into my couch, along with the slightly sour smell of my mothers perfume. I take a long deep breath and turn as my phone lets out a high pitched chirp. Picking it up, I see a text from Maya and a response from Dylan.

I click on our group chat and see that Maya has asked to see if one of us will help her pick out a dress for some event she has to go to for her dad’s demanding job. Hearing her complain about spending time with her parents makes me want to scream, but she is my best friend, and I don’t want to be alone all of today.

I respond with a short, “Yes,” and turn back to my show. 

After ten short minutes, barely halfway through the show, I hear a knock on my door and open it to find both Maya and Dylan on my doorstep. I reluctantly let them into the house and stomp upstairs to pull a gray sweatshirt over my shoulders and shove the hood over my head. I want to give off the don’t-talk-to-me vibe.

Dylan gives me the side eye as we scamper to the car and I decide that I will tolerate them, and try to cheer up. In shotgun, I crank up the music and play the part of DJ. In between flipping through songs, I stare, expressionless, out the car window. Maya and Dylan make chit chat until they cut off the music and, from the backseat, Dylan turns to face me. He looks at me and I know something is on his mind, but before he can tell me, we pull into the mall parking lot. I shoot Dylan a glance, but read nothing from his expression. 

As we walk, I can feel the pavement, hot underneath my flip-flops. We enter the mall and the cool air conditioning and the smell of new products envelops me. I’m slightly overwhelmed, always have been when going to malls. I wish I could communicate this to my friends who are mall enthusiasts. I turn to glance at them and Maya is staring at me with an expectancy in her eyes. Did I miss something?

“Well?” Maya questions.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you want anything?” She sounds exasperated. This happens to me a lot, just spacing out in the middle of a conversation.

I shake my head, a definite no. Even if I did want something, I don’t think I have the strength to ask my parents for money right now.

“Hey Lillian, are you OK?” Dylan questions.

“Yup, just tired,” I reply. I’m not lying, I’m tired of being here and of these parentless nights.

After two hours of trying dresses on, both Dylan and I are completely out of steam and hungry for greasy fast food. We end up dragging Maya out of Macy’s with a light blue, strapless dress.

We drive to the closest Five Guys and buy paper bags of salty, hot fries and fountain cold soft drinks. Grease soaks through the bottom of the white paper bags and cold condensation lingers on my fingers. We run to the car and gobble fry after fry, slurp our drinks, and enjoy each others company.


Grayforce

“Hey, who’s Rose?” Cam asked. Amina looked up from her phone at Cam, seatbelt unbuckled and craning his neck from the backseat to peer over her shoulder. She giggled and turned off her phone with one hand, swatting her cousin away with the other.

“Cameron, sit your behind down and put your seatbelt on,” Amina’s mom said, eyes never leaving the road. “I know you know better.”

Amina stifled another laugh and pushed her round glasses up.

Cam hung his head, sliding back into his seat. “Sorry, Auntie E.” Amina listened to the click of his seatbelt as her mom turned the radio’s volume down.

“Why’d you turn it down?” Amina asked. “What were they talking about?”

Mrs. Jackson sighed. “Some members of Catch 88 robbed a restaurant in the next county over.” She shook her head and muttered something under her breath. “I’m not interested in hearing that right now.”

“It would be so awesome to actually meet Catch 88,” Cam said. Mrs. Jackson’s eyebrows shot up and Amina gasped in mock horror. “If they turned to the good side,” he quickly added. 

“Buuut,” he said, twisting his wrist, “I’m more interested in whoever Rose is.” 

Amina tried to keep a hold of her phone, but the pull of Cam’s telekinesis was too much for her. Her smart phone slipped clean out of her dark brown fingers, past her cornrows, and into Cam’s lap.

“Ugh, I think you’ve gotten too good at doing that,” Amina grumbled. Sometimes, she wished that she had mind manipulation like Cameron and Deterge, the wicked queen supreme of the criminal three-person posse Catch 88. Other times, she was grateful for her own gift, no matter how bothersome it could be every now and then. 

“Yeah, no thanks to our training classes.” Cam deftly unlocked Amina’s phone and went straight to messages. “Like, how the heck’s a genealogy project going to help us hone our abilities?”

“Genealogy project?” Mrs. Jackson asked, turning into the bursting mall parking lot. 

“I’ve got a genealogy project due next week,” Amina said, adjusting her glasses again. “And you know what would help? Maybe some more info on Aunt Deandra? I’ve got plenty of info on dad’s side of the family, but-”

“Nope,” Mrs. Jackson said as she turned the car into a teeny parking space and yanked out the keys. 

Amina sighed. She hated going behind her mother’s back, but the family tree part of the project she was supposed to present to her homeschool cooperative super training class was going to look pretty weird if she didn’t have any information about her mom’s side of the family. What she was about to do… well, it was the only way to get the details she needed. Besides, maybe she’d be able to figure out what had gone wrong between her Aunt Deandra and her mom  – and maybe even fix it.

Amina watched her mom get out of the car. It seemed like she was moving through water- couldn’t she hurry up? She was really trying to go about this without abusing her ability, but her mom was making it so hard. If her mom didn’t always somehow know when she was trying to dig through her mind, Amina would’ve probably jumped right in without hesitation.

“Are you planning on getting out of the car sometime this year?” Cam asked, poking her in the back.

Amina rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Cameron Lesley.”

Cam’s eyebrows scrunched closer together, making Amina’s cousin look like he’d glued a furry caterpillar to his forehead. “No, but really. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Amina said, grabbing his arm and jogging to catch up to her mom. “Come on!” Excitement jiggled in her stomach alongside the guilt and unspoken worry she’d swallowed down.

As they walked towards the mall’s entrance on a fading crosswalk, Mrs. Jackson rattled off a list of rules. Practical ones like no talking to strangers, no using their abilities, etc. She seemed to be mostly preaching to Cam who grinned the entire lecture. Ironic that this time around, Cam would be playing the role of angel child. Well, hopefully. Cam could always tease a smile out of her, but Amina knew he was also thoroughly capable of turning heads for all the wrong reasons at all the wrong times.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, alright?” Mrs. Jackson said, capping off the speech with a kiss on Amina’s cheek. “Be safe.”

 Amina nodded, then watched, toes itching to get moving as her mother strolled a bit further down the massive hallway sooo slowly. Finally- finally!-  Mrs. Jackson disappeared around the corner, probably on her way to get her nails done.

As soon as Mrs. Jackson was out of Amina’s line of sight, Amina turned to Cam, eyes still glued to the coffee shop window that faced the mall interior.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep the giddiness out of her voice. “You stay here and keep watch for my mom. If she comes back, just… I don’t know, distract her, I guess.”

Cam nodded. “Should I pretend to choke on my mint latte?”

“Ugh, Cam, no,” Amina said. “And give me back my phone. Please.”

Cam handed her phone back to her. “So when will I be meeting this ‘Rose’ ?”

Amina shrugged. “Rose is my debate class partner. I put her name down so it would look like I was texting a friend instead of my aunt.”

“Alrighty then.” Cam paused. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I applaud your planning, this really is phenomenal, but what if she-”

“It’ll be great,” Amina said. “She’s my aunt. I should be close as close to my mom’s family as I am with my dad’s.”

Cam nodded. “ ‘Cause if you weren’t we wouldn’t be buddies, would we? If anything goes down, though, remember, she’s your family, not mine. I’ll come in there and,” he mimed clocking someone in the head with a bat.

Amina began walking towards the shop. “Sure you will,” she said over her shoulder. 

“Haha, you think I’m playing!” she heard him call after her.

Amina entered the coffee shop and scanned the large yellow-colored space. There were plenty of people, but Amina knew she was looking for a woman in a gray sweatshirt and jeans. That was what her Aunt Deandra said she’d be wearing over instant messaging. Amina had wondered if her mother was secretly in contact with her aunt, as she’d found a box full of Aunt-Deandra related stuff, including a conveniently current phone number, under her mother’s bed after FBI worthy snooping.

The strong smell of coffee undiluted by sugar curled inside of her nose. How could people actually drink this stuff? Soft chatter, occasionally broken by the sound of awkwardly loud laughter, provided some nice white noise. Amina forced herself to relax.

After a minute of searching, her eyes landed on the gray sweatshirt. The woman, her Aunt Deandra, was sitting alone at a booth in the far corner of the restaurant. Her hood was up and the sweatshirt was enormous, hanging off her body. Her auntie looked cozy. Amina liked cozy.

 She adjusted her glasses and strode over, clutching her phone. As she slid into the booth, she grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The woman, whose face had been obscured by the hood until now, looked up. To Amina’s delight, she shared her mom’s high cheekbones, rounded nose, and nearly black eyes. “Oh, we’ve met before. You were just a baby.”

Amina opened her mouth to say something else, but Aunt Deandra interrupted with, “Is Estelle around?”

Amina shook her head. “Well, see, I have a family tree project due for my training class, and it wouldn’t have felt right if you weren’t part of it. Estelle, er Mom, just dropped me off to meet with you…” 

Amina let her voice trail off, hoping her Aunt Deandra would put the pieces together herself.

“It doesn’t seem like Estelle to send you here alone to meet up with me,” Aunt Deandra said, rubbing her neck. “Is she nearby?”

Amina squirmed. Aunt Deandra sounded… almost panicked. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Amina wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but obviously, this wasn’t it. She could still fix everything, though. “Mom doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise her when you joined the family again.”

Aunt Deandra’s carefully waxed eyebrows furrowed before she laughed. “Of course. Just like your mom to say that I left the family.”

“Excuse me?” Amina asked. She glanced at the coffee shop entrance doors, where Cam was casually browsing on his phone. No Mom in sight.

“Did she tell you that I left the family?” Aunt Deandra asked. “That I didn’t want to be involved in her life anymore?”

Amina snapped her focus back to her aunt. “Kinda, yeah. She never talks much about you.” Sometimes, when her dad was working late and she and her mom were cleaning up the kitchen together, her mother’s lips would loosen from exhaustion and a good meal. Those were the nights she experienced her aunt in snippets and stories.

“That makes sense. It’s a shame you had to contact me without her knowledge.” Her aunt grinned with beautiful gleaming teeth. “A girl should know her auntie, right?”

Amina nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” She quickly added, “Oh, and the family project, too.”

Aunt Deandra laughed. “Right. You thirsty, baby?”

Amina nodded. She had almost forgotten they were in the coffee shop! For one sparkling moment, she and her aunt had been laughing together.

As soon as Aunt Deandra returned with the iced lemonade Amina had requested, and a mango smoothie for herself, Amina pushed her glasses up, saying, “Can I start with the questions?”

“Sure,” Aunt Deandra said before taking a sip from her smoothie. 

“Well, why did you leave the family?” Amina asked.

Aunt Deandra’s smile evaporated. “I didn’t leave. I was forced out because I decided to do whatever it took to get the ability training I needed.”

Amina tried to hide her excitement at hearing that she, her dad, and Cam weren’t the only supers in her family. “You’re a super?”

Aunt Deandra nodded. “You didn’t just get it from your father’s side of the family.”

Wait…

Amina readjusted her glasses. “Uh… how do you know I’m a super?”

Aunt Deandra sipped her drink before looking around the coffee shop. “You know, you’re something extraordinary, Amina. What if I told you that there is a group of very, well, special people who used to be just like you? Being kept from the real way their abilities worked.”

Amina gripped her drink. This was starting to feel wrong, like she’d been tricked. She knew she hadn’t; she’d sought her aunt out and she’d arranged the meeting, but… her stomach was doing a funky flip-flop, I’m-not-happy dance with improvised choreography.

“What if I could introduce you to these very special people? They, in a way, know you already. Do you want to know them?” Deandra continued, stopping every now and then to take a sip from her drink and pull her hood tighter around her face. Her movements were so measured, so… practiced.

The warning lights flashed full force in the back of Amina’s mind. She shouldn’t be meeting strangers, but… they were her aunt’s friends… and her aunt wasn’t a stranger. Right?

Amina’s phone pinged. She ignored it. “Um, who are these people?”

Aunt Deandra swallowed. “I shouldn’t say.” She gestured towards a man in a black suit, his nose inches away from his cellphone. “We don’t know who’s listening.”

Amina knew that she shouldn’t use her ability in public. It wasn’t quite illegal but if she removed her ever present glasses now, the coffee shop-goers would get panicky. People didn’t like to be reminded that supernaturals lived among them no matter how commonplace abilities were. Then again, she didn’t normally meet up with mysterious estranged aunties, so, slowly, she slipped her glasses off.

She blinked as her eyes, uninhibited by her glasses’ vision modification lenses, swept over her Aunt Deandra. Her vision wasn’t as clear now, but she could see much more than her eyes alone could tell her. Any warmth she might have harbored towards her aunt drained right out of her chest.

Aunt Deandra sighed. “You know who I am now, don’t you?”

Amina clutched her phone to her chest and struggled to slide out of her seat. “I… I should go-”

“Amina, wait,” Aunt Deandra said, her voice still low and relaxed. “Don’t make me-”

“No, no, I have to go. This is wrong, I shouldn’t, you’re-” Amina’s words tumbled all over themselves.

Aunt Deandra snapped her fingers right as Amina slid out of the booth.

The yellow of the walls began to swirl. The people stretched like multi-colored spaghetti.

Amina tried to move, but her legs were lead and her tongue suddenly felt glued to the roof of her mouth. Of course, she thought. Short-term reality warping

“You’re Hypatia,” Amina breathed. Her voice sounded like she’d gone on a helium breathing spree and tied her tongue in triple knots.

Aunt Deandra nodded. “I am. Listen to me. Your mother isn’t going to get you the help you need to properly use your abilities. Only Catch 88 can do that. My parents refused to send Estelle and me to a proper super-learning institution, and-”

“How is Catch 88 a proper learning institution?” Amina asked, her voice climbing octaves as the temperature in her cheeks rose. “You guys mug people and rob banks and do… do bad people stuff!” What, did her aunt think she was stupid? And she’d mentioned her mom being denied the opportunity to go to the training school- what the heck was that about? Her mom had the supernatural abilities of a soda can!

Aunt Deandra frowned. “I’m not involved in most of the criminal activity. But you’d be surprised what Deterge and Clepsydra, despite their lawless lifestyles, can do for you.” She paused, then added, “It’s only going to get worse. You can’t control what your mind wants to see, can you?”

Amina didn’t want to answer, but her face must have betrayed her, because her aunt continued with, “Those glasses you wear in order to suppress your psychometry are only going to help your abilities strengthen. Eventually, they won’t work. Your mind will build up a resistance to the medication due to constant use. Matter of fact… I bet you’ve even seen into someone with the glasses on once or twice.”

Amina felt like cold fingers were doing the Irish jig on her neck and arms. Her aunt was right. It had only happened once or twice… but it had happened. That was how she’d learned that back-of-the-room Bailey in her SAT prep class had been late to class that one day because his bike had broken down, and that her dad secretly wanted to grow a beard. Harmless things. For now.

The yellow swirls shrank back into their normal form. The coffee shop reformed around them as people shrunk back to normal size. Her aunt’s reality manipulation ended. No one seemed to notice that reality had just been stretched out, stopped, and then smooshed back together by the invisible hands her aunt’s mind.

“Whoa,” Amina breathed as chilled air rushed through her lungs and the sounds of people around them returned.

“Imagine. You wouldn’t have to wear those glasses to control your psychometry.” Aunt Deandra- Hypatia– said. Her voice sounded far away and bluesy, like it belonged in the middle of a sultry jazz song playing from down the street. “You would be able to filter out whose information you want to know and whose you don’t at will.”

Amina was about to say that she’d think about it- then make a run for it- when Cam slunk over to their booth. Amina forced herself not to announce her aunt’s super identity. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Amina’s mystery aunt! Amina, your mom just texted me. She’s coming since you haven’t been answering your phone. We should go meet her outside so she won’t see,” he gestured with his hand towards Aunt Deandra.

Amina sucked in a quick breath. “Okay.” She looked at her aunt. “Is there somewhere I can meet up with you when I make the decision?” She wouldn’t join her wacko aunt in becoming a criminal, but she sure would be making all the right phone calls to the local authorities as soon as it was safe. Right? Criminals hurt people and enjoyed it. She pressed her clammy palms to the legs of her jeans.

Aunt Deandra shook her head as she looked over her shoulder. “You can’t get back into contact with me. It’s not safe.” She glanced at Cam, then back at Amina. “Choose.”

Cam snapped a finger in front of Amina’s face. Amina jumped.

With a flick of his wrist, Amina’s phone shot into Cam’s waiting palm. “Amina, let’s go.” He waved the phone a few inches from her nose. It pinged once, twice, then three times as her phone showed her the notification for missed calls and (probably ranty) text messages. 

Amina turned back to Deandra, trying hard to erase mental images of her mom, hands on her hips, give her the talking to of a lifetime for teaming up with a gang of super thugs. It wasn’t for real! She would go with her aunt and then call the police. They’d find Deandra that way.

But Deandra wasn’t looking at her anymore. She was scowling. Her eyes were fixed on a spot behind Amina’s head. Amina froze, sure that her mother was standing right behind her. She slowly turned, breathing deeply. In. Out. In. Ou-

Cam’s mouth fell open. He looked like he might drop dead on the spot. 

“Let’s make this quick. Hypatia, where’s my money at?”

Amina’s eyes finally landed on the person behind her. 

Deterge was even taller than she looked on television. Her short black hair framed her white mask. A bulky looking white and gray bodysuit concealed the rest of her body. It looked like she’d never been to fashion school and had designed it herself. 

Amina shivered. She’d studied Deterge for her current events class, but she’d never encountered any textbook information on Deterge having temperature manipulation abilities. Despite that, Amina felt cold radiating directly from the super. She was an unregistered super, so for all anyone knew, she could turn her eyes fifty million different shades of violet and see into the future with them in addition to her infamous telekinesis. If she could see into the future and was able to anticipate police raids, maybe that was why she never got caught. 

Deterge repeated her question. “Where’s my money?”

Aunt Deandra stood up. “I don’t have it. I have something better.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amina could see people diving under their booths and tables, pulling out their phones, and snapping photos with flash. A baby cried.

Deterge crossed her arms. “Even after all the extensions I’ve given you? Pathetic… but not unexpected. I thought this might happen. This actually works out nicely.” She turned to her ‘audience.’ “What I’m about to do to this woman is nothing compared to what I’ll do to any government official who dares try to suppress us. Catch 88 will not stand for the suppression of our gifts, and we will bend-”

Aunt Deandra crossed her arms, too. “I’d forgotten how much of a drama queen you are. Are you going to accept my offer or not?”

“No,” Deterge snapped. “Give me the money.”

Under normal circumstances, Amina knew Cam would be live streaming this super-exchange via his mom’s Facebook profile. Instead, his eyes looked glazed as he gaped at the criminal super in white.

Aunt Deandra’s mouth opened and closed without a single sound, kind of like a fish’s.  “I don’t-”

Deterge snapped her fingers. Every drink sitting idly on a restaurant table exploded. A spray of ice-cold lemonade hit Amina’s right cheek and eye. People screamed.

“Now, you and I both know that I would like to blow you up just like I did those beverages. But I won’t since Catch 88 needs more than one competent member. So, if you don’t give me the money right here, I’ll have no choice but to do the next best thing.” Deterge said this like she was talking to an inattentive preschooler. 

“Which is?” Aunt Deandra asked.

Deterge turned to Cam. “Who is this?”

“He’s not involved,” Aunt Deandra said, rolling her eyes.

“Then he’s perfect,” Deterge said. She slid out of the booth from behind Amina and grabbed Cam’s wrist. “I know you know him.”

“I don’t,” Deandra protested, although she didn’t seem all that determined to save him. 

Amina screamed, “She doesn’t! Cam doesn’t have anything to do with Aun- Hypatia, she doesn’t know him.”

Deterge paused. She chuckled. “Did you say aunt?”

Aunt Deandra swore. She glared at Amina with the kind of look that seems to turn your insides to stone. 

Amina shrunk back from her aunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Oh, don’t apologize. I met you here because you have a chance to help your auntie out,” Aunt Deandra said. She looked back to Deterge. “What if I let you train Amina? You can let the kid go, I’ll have half the money by Saturday in return.”

Amina could not make her mouth move. 

Deterge tilted her head. “I don’t know… how long would she train with me?”

“Train? She doesn’t have to train.” Aunt Deandra said breathlessly. “You said you were raising an army. Amina’s your first soldier.”

“W-what?” Cam squeaked, not even bothering to struggle against Deterge.

Deterge shook her head and laughed. “Not gonna work, I’m afraid. Now, if you don’t have the money-”

“She can see into people’s minds, Alice.” Aunt Deandra said. Deterge flinched, probably at the use of her real name. “Where else are you going to find a natural-born spy? I am giving her to you.”

“I didn’t agree to that,” Amina heard herself saying.

Deterge grabbed Cam’s curly hair. “You’ll agree if you want him to live.”

“You wouldn’t kill a child,” Aunt Deandra snarled. “You haven’t reached that level of stupidity.”

“Haven’t I?” Deterge threw Cameron across the room. He went flying, hitting a nearby chair, landing limbs akimbo on top of it. He was very, very still. The man under the table next to the chair yelped and scrambled away. 

Amina screamed, heat pushing up into her chest and face. It felt like someone was holding her underwater. She was breathing, but whatever she was taking in wasn’t keeping her alive.

Her mind kept shoving Deterge’s stats in her face over and over and over. Then, she realized that though Deterge had the power to end everyone in the coffee house, and maybe the mall, Amina now had her real name and age and everything. Plus, something was brewing deep in her gut. Would she be able to use it?

She heard Deterge swear colorfully and hit the floor.

For once, her psychometry wasn’t just a bunch of nobody-cares facts that threw themselves at her in a flurry of color and sound. Everything was black and white, purpose stark. Her mind was an arrow, already locked on bullseye- a deep black tunnel leading into what looked like color. It knew where to pierce the skull and allow her inner eye to peer through. She could feel her mind scanning through Deterge’s, scraping through memories like they were file cabinets. 

Amina imagined her mind had arms and that Deterge- Alice Jennings, actually- had file cabinets for memories. She used her mind arms to rip a cabinet straight out of the shelving. 

She heard faint screaming in the distance, and for a moment, her arms weakened, and she could feel Alice/Deterge fighting against her.

Amina dug deeper, punching through the soft gray folds of Alice’s mind and pushing through the tunnel. She was swimming deeper into a clear pool of some kind of juice- ew, she thought, ignore that– deeper and further until she touched on a flaming red file cabinet. Her motions were slowed by the surrounding juice, but her arms still worked through it, grabbing hold of the filing cabinet and yanking. Someone was pulling in the opposite direction. Amina knew she couldn’t win and her stomach begged for her to stop. It rolled and flopped. She ignored it and examined the cabinet, holding on to it like it was the last morsel of food on earth.

Names, memories, all kinds of bits and bobs floated in the cabinet. Her mind’s hands pulled at the random objects. They crackled under her touch. Hearing them crinkle felt good.

John Jennings. Johnnie. Melanie Jennings. Little Mellie, Jennifer Jennings, Little Je-

“Stop!” she heard someone screech.

Amina blinked. The cabinet scraped against her hands before falling away. Her mind screamed in pain as it was ripped from Deterge’s. Searing heat danced along her forehead and temples.

She stumbled back, the world spinning around her in circles and ovals and craziness. Something warm leaped up from her chest and into her throat, filling her with a sour, gushy feeling. Her cheeks were furnaces on the verge of overheating.

Her vision, which she hadn’t realized had been missing until now, cleared. No matter how many times she swallowed, the gushy feeling in her throat wouldn’t subside.

Deterge writhed on the floor. She wasn’t covered in blood, or even scratched. Her hands clawed at her mask, scalp, and hair, trying to reach for something she couldn’t touch. Amina’s mom lay next to Deterge, groaning. When had her mom gotten there?

“Johnnie!” Deterge wailed. “Johnnie, I’m sorry!”

Amina stepped back. She had to get away. She had to get away from what she’d done.

The people who’d hidden themselves away under the coffee tables began to emerge as Deterge slowly stopped squirming. A few darted out of the open door, dragging crying toddlers and children behind them.

“Is she dead?” someone called out. 

She’s dead, she’s dead, her brain screeched. Amina’s hands shook. Did the people know she’d killed Alice? Had she killed Alice?

Arms wrapped around Amina from behind. Her aunt was saying something to her. 

“How did you do that?”

Amina shook her head. She didn’t want the credit. She didn’t want this. “Make it go back,” she whispered.

“What?” her aunt asked. “Make what?”

“Time! Make it go back, I can’t, I have to fix it and you have to do it because I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Alice! Make it go back!”

“I can’t,” her Aunt Deandra said. “But listen to me, Amina. You could make a lot of money using that gift of yours. If you did what I think you did, you-”

“No!” Amina screamed. Her mom. She needed her mom. Her mom would be able to wash this away, hold her tight and away from the world. “Let me go, I want my mom!”

The only signs her mother showed of hearing her was lifting her head. Her dark curls obscured her face.

Aunt Deandra’s voice sliced into Amina’s ear. “Forget about your mother, Amina. You and I, we can get your friend the help he needs and then train you. You have a gift, something so wonderful that you have to learn to use it properly. You can’t go on having a normal life with powers like yours.”

“You’re not my mom! I want my mom now!” she yelled. She stomped down on her Aunt Deandra’s foot. Hypatia, momentarily surprised, released her. Amina ran towards her mother, sneakers gripping and releasing the floor over and over.

Mrs. Jackson raised a hand. “D-Deterge might come back to her senses, honey. Stay where you are.”

Amina obeyed, eyeing Deterge. 

Then she remembered her cousin. She couldn’t just stand there.

She rushed over to Cameron, who was moaning and rolling around.

“Everyone put your hands where we can see them!”

Amina’s stomach dropped. Police threw open the coffee shop’s double doors and clambered in, shouting directions as their hands traced their gun holsters. 

Amina raised her hands high over her head, craning her neck over her shoulder to see Detege being apprehended. Her Aunt Deandra gave her one last look even as police surrounded her before pressing her palms together. Space folded in on itself, swallowing Aunt Deandra before popping back into place.

She didn’t care. Let her aunt warp away like she’d done nothing for now. Amina was going to find her. She knew what her aunt looked like, sounded like. It would only be a matter of when, not if, she and the police captured her. 

“Amina,” Cam groaned. “Amina, what’s… what’s going on?” 

Amina focused on Cam. Her mind immediately jumped into his, gathering facts she already knew. That had always happened without her glasses. But now, her mind was hungry to slice and tear Cam’s memories like they were gray putty erasers. That…that was new.

“Just- just relax,” Amina said, more to herself than to him.

Amina must have been making her I-can’t-see squint face, because Cam scrunched up his face and snapped his fingers.

Amina’s glasses knocked straight against her face and landed on Cam’s chest. Cam groaned. “You’re welcome,” he croaked. He hesitated before asking, “Your… your aunt? Where is she?” He tried to sit up, eyes darting around the coffee shop.

“I’ll find her,” Amina vowed, feeling silly with her hands still up in the air.

But first, she would train. She would petition her parents to send her to the National Training Institution, and if they refused, she’d run away somehow.  However it happened, she needed to get her powers in line before she destroyed somebody’s mind the way she had Deterge’s. She needed to rein in whatever in her had felt good as she crinkled Alice’s memories into badly burnt and churned pain.


Godel’s Guide to Breaking Everything

Introduction

Two people walk down the street in two opposite directions. They are going two separate ways, and will never see each other again. 

Enter C stage left, move centerstage, keep walking

Enter M stage right, move centerstage 

C “bumps,” M drops phone

M: Oh!

C: Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—

M: No, my phone!

C: Ooh, I can pay for that, it looks pretty broken. Here. I’ll go with you to get it fixed. 

M: Right now? 

C: Yeah. Why not? 

M: Well, I got a patient who I need to attend to before she gets hungry. 

C: Other nurses will take care of your patient. You can call in sick!

M: Well, I haven’t had a vacation for a while… you know, the earthquake?

M: Wait. How did you know I was a nurse? 

C: Well. You said that you had to feed a patient; doctors wouldn’t do that, they would be doing surgeries, and stuff like that. Also, when you dropped your bag (and your phone clattered out), a box of surgical masks fell out of your bag. I’m also assuming you’re going to night school? 

M: Wha? How…

C: Dark circles. Concealer can’t cover everything, honey. 

C: Now we got to go to get your screen fixed. 

Act 1

Waiting in the phone shop

C: So… do you want to talk about something? 

M: No. You’ve been super kind, but I think it would be best if we didn’t talk. 

C: So. You want to talk about nothing. 

M: Yes? 

C: Well, nothing is a thing.

M: No, nothing is black. Nothing is no-thing. 

C: Black is a thing, and no thing is the opposite of a thing, therefore, must be no-thing.

M: Oh my gosh, you’re right!

C: It’s called Godel’s Theorem. For example, take the statement, “This statement is a lie.” The liar’s paradox. The real statement behind this is, “This statement is unprovable.” How can you prove this statement? Or, really, ANY statement? For example, 1 plus 1 is just, 2. How do you know it is, though? 

M: Because, well… it’s just… well…

C: Yeah.

M: Can I have your number? 

C: Your phone’s done. 

M: How can we keep talking? 

C: I’ll call you.  

C exits stage right

M stays on set, curtain drops

Act 2

Soon after while lying on set, M receives a call… 

M: Blocked caller ID? That’s funny… hello? 

C: Hey.

M: Who are you? 

C: I’m just the CEO of a company. I just uncovered too much about Godel. It’s fine though. Sorry about the blocked caller. 

M: I was expecting you to call like, three weeks ago! It’s been a month since I broke my phone. 

C: Sorry, but I am a CEO. I have a job. 

M: Ugh. I don’t have time for this. I have to get to school. 

C: I’ll call you. 

M: (disconnects) Not if I call you first. 

C: (on the other end, M not hearing them) Dina? Look up where- wait. What’s their name? 

Act 3

One day later while M is at work, M calls C

C: Hello? 

M: No, no hello, I’m not wasting time having you or your pettiness stand in my way. You can hang up, but you won’t. Explain what’s happening. Right. Now. 

C: Look up Godel. 

C hangs up.

M: Hello? Hello? 

C calls back.

C: Dinner. Sandy’s. You’re free. 

M: No. Luigi’s. What’s your name again? 

C hangs up.

At dinner (at Sandy’s)

C: Wow. You dressed up!

M: And you didn’t? Anyway. I can’t even think about anything without going crazy, thinking  about the ways it’s wrong. I looked up Godel, but it only said that he commited a slow and painful suicide, and was a professor. 

C: Ok, I’ll explain it to you, and look up his theories. 

C: Now. Think of a rubber duck. How do you know it’s real?

M: Well… you can feel it, and you can see it. Sometimes you can smell it. 

C: Yes but you feel with your nerves, and you taste with your tastebuds, and you smell with tiny hairs in your nose, and all three of those are somewhat of a reaction from your brain. It could be your brain malfunctioning, and you’re actually eating dark matter.  

M: You’re saying everything could very well be a figment of our imagination? 

C: That’s up to you. 

C: I also ordered us a s’mores to go. I’ve found it’s best to cope with some soft, gooey marshmallow. 

M: How do you cope? 

C: I don’t. This is the first time I ever shared that with anybody. 

M: Well, glad you’re coping with me. 

C smiles. 

C: Goodnight. 

M: I’ve got to get to class.


Later 

: My mind is as sharp as an emerald, but as blunt as a dead body. 

: Wait how can you tell someone is even dead? 

: Don’t. I’ve thought about it… 

: All this time. I’ve never even thought about this before…

: Just once or twice. 

: To test. 

: I know how. 

: So do I

: Just twice. 

: Some idiot scum that no ones going to miss… 

Even later

News: “Twenty eight people have been suspected dead, over the past few weeks, no connection between them. Nobody knows where this person will strike next, but we do know this makes them the highest ranking american serial…”

:Why?

: Because. I had to, before you did. 

: we agreed on two. 

: …g

Goodbye, C. 

: Goodbye. 

Epilogue

Charlotte was driving to her second mansion. When she got there, somebody was standing where she was supposed to. 

Maya? I thought. We ran to each other and shared a familiar kiss. How… why… “They think it was me so I said I was going on vacation.” 

“They won’t look here because we have no connection, they would never suspect us of being friends, and they would never guess we’re more.”

fin


Loyalty

Loyalty

Is T   h e r   e

For you 

For your friends

She will follow you

If you wish 

Loyalty

With modest overalls  

And dirt blond hair

Cascading down her face

Loyalty 

Loyalty is T   h e r e


When you tell a secret

She keeps it 

When you spill the tea

She will always see

If you’re 

Sad

Sick

Hurt

Happy

Unaware

Loyalty

Loyalty is T   h e r e


If you can’t hold it in

You can confide within

Those kind green eyes and each warm freckle

So maybe just a speckle

Of love will shine through

From the both of you

Loyalty 

Loyalty is T   h e r e


Maybe if 

You catch a whiff

Of rumors dark and twisted

If you ever tear up a slight amount

You can always

Bury your head 

Into the bed 

Of friendship necklaces

Too many to count

Loyalty

Loyalty is T   h e r e


From the furthest corner

Of her satchel worner

Out comes a shiny gift 

Your birthday

With a Hallmark holiday

Card insignia on the back

She smiles and 

Gives it to you

Inked doodles on her hand

Loyalty 

Loyalty is T   h e r e


She is there for you 

Through and through

Thick and thin

She doesn’t choose

In a clash of cliques

She’s on her side

Your side 

No side

Loyalty 

Loyalty is T   h e r e

My Past

His family was lying to him about his father, about his old ways. It’s put him toe to toe with his family, why is that? Is it about the money, the cars, the shoes? No, it can’t be about the money. Oh I know exactly what it is about. [PAUSE] It is about the son of the only thing that was there for him, which is his mom. He loved his dad so much, but his dad did it to his body. If he went to a party and thought his son would not find out about it, but now he’s dead so the son can only cry about it every day when no one’s looking. Crying is like being a punk about it, that’s what people on the street say. The boy didn’t believe it at first when he came in the room on a Saturday in June and his mom was crying and said, “Your father passed away.” So he laughed. [PAUSE] The body had been found that Thursday. He said he didn’t believe it, and he didn’t believe it until he was standing beside his mother in front of the casket. He didn’t want to cry in that moment or break down. He went outside and played with his cousins. [PAUSE] Now the son has to move on, but doesn’t want to because he loved his dad with rap battle fire. He wanted to spit flames, he 87654687 got ready to spit flames, he wanted the crowd to jump up, laugh, and scream. [PAUSE]  They burned his dad down to ashes, like crumbs of bread moldy on the ground. [PAUSE] Now he doesn’t want to lose his mom, so he’s got to respect his mom with all his heart. Staying away from her is like burning himself down into ember. [PAUSE, look at audience] They lied about his father.


In a Crowded Train

WHAT’S GOING ON

“Maria Jane Wodson, there is a friend I would like you to meet!” Father yelled from downstairs.

As I made my way down the white marble stairs, I saw him. He wore the Nazi uniform, with the red arm band on his left arm, showing off his muscular arms. He looked like he was in his 30s.

Looking at his cold blue eyes caused my hands to tremble on the wood banister. Scared. I was scared, that’s the word. Scared.

Father saw that I had finally got out of my room and exclaimed, “This is my coworker, Kurt. He will be your math tutor for the next month.”

I said a quick, “Hi.”

I made my way past Kurt. Then I felt a cold hand on my shirt. It was Kurt.

Then he whispered in a low voice, “I know people like you, up to no good.”

What did he mean, “people like you.” He let me go, but I still felt his cold hand on my shoulder.

Making my way to my car, I noticed these kids playing around the street playing tag. And they each wore a necklace with the Jewish star. Then I continued observing the kids’ clothing, noticing the same star sewn on their spring vests, their jeans, and shirts. 

But I got in my car, driving to a cafe to meet up with a friend. I saw in front of me that Betty had already found seats. I made my way across the pink tiled floors, past the bar. But I could not stop thinking about why all Jews were sewing the star. I knew Betty was Jewish, but why didn’t she have the star sewn on? We had just started drinking coffee when these Nazis barged in. Grabbed Betty by the arm. And I just stood there in shock. Betty was thrashing and screaming in fear. No, I couldn’t lose her. She has been my best friend since, like, the beginning of time. Now she was gone. My head was spinning in confusion. What was happening. And why. 

FINDING OUT THE TRUTH

After I left the cafe, the only thing I could think about all day were the Nazis. Then all of a sudden, I fell to the floor. Looking below me I saw a yellow rubber duck staring at me with black beady eyes.

“What the heck!!” I said to myself. Why was there a rubber duck. Oh well, never thought that would happen. 

Making my way up the old brick stairs to my home, I felt like a melting marshmallow in the hot sun. I didn’t know if Father was home. So I went upstairs to check his office, but as I made my way closer to the office, I heard men yelling.

You know all Jews must be sent to the camps. Not one can slip past you!”

 What camps? I thought. And why target Jews? 

But then I heard more. “We finally got that stupid Betty. The troops just got her at the coffee shop when she was with my daughter. Get the rest of them. Hitler’s orders!”

It was Father!!! Father was the reason Betty was taken away. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. Was this why the kids were wearing the stars, the Nazis needed to know who were Jews. But what camps.

The Nazis stormed out of the house. I was in the kitchen snacking on some potato chips when one of the men caught my eye.

He had cold emerald eyes, then he said in a loud booming voice, “Alright, men, hurry up. Let’s go.”

I recognized that voice. It was the voice of the first man in the conversation. I must stay away from that man.

One week later… 

THE TRAIN

I found myself in a crowded train, filled with Jews. Babies crying, kids crying, women and men crying. Why had I gone snooping? Why did I ever start to have feelings for Kurt? Kurt did this to me. I felt the train stop. The Nazis opened up the doors. Then they started pushing people off the train. One Nazi pushed me so hard that I fell.

I looked behind myself and saw Kurt. Kurt, the one who started this whole mess. But he looked at me like I was no one, kicked me, and said, “You stupid girl, get up.”

I wondered if he even noticed me, but then a loud scream interrupted that thought. A Jewish mama was being taken away from her daughter. I ran over to help the child.

I yelled back at the mama, “I will take care of her!!”

The girl yelled back at the mama screaming, “No!!! I need her. I need my mama.”

The girls eyes looked scared, so I said to the girl, “It’s okay. I will take care of you.”

“No, you are not my mama. You will turn me into them, then they will kill me!!”

“Come with me, so we don’t get in trouble and end up like your mama. We must follow the rest of the group.”

“Fine, but promise me they won’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t make any promises, but I will try my best.”

“Are you scared?” the girl asked, shivering.

“Yes, but you must stay strong. Please stay strong.”

The girl and I followed the Nazis through the concentration camp, past lines of Jews heading into dark tunnels. Then all of a sudden I heard bang, bang. I looked over my shoulder and found four dead bodies on the cold brick floor. Then I thought to myself what will become of me.


Glitch

Chapter 1

RUN FASTER! I tell myself. My legs are throbbing in pain because of the arrow that’s stuck in them. I hear yelling in the back and another arrow flies past me, just missing my head. I look behind me and see a whole tribe of Indians racing behind me with knives and all sorts of dangerous weapons. I see it! The doorway to the next level. Almost there. I jump for the door and make it. I look behind me and everything fades away. I put the golden Idol in the treasure slot and wait for the next level to load.

 I have been in this game for at least five hours. I press the menu button and take off the VR headset (Virtual Reality). I look at my leg to see where I was shot by the arrow, there was a big bruise there. I take off the RE suit (Real Effect), I turn on the newest AI assistant AIA (Artificial Intelligence), and ask for the time.

“It is 5 AM Mr. Lucas. You should start to get ready for school, sir,” she said in her robotic monotone.

I go into my closet and pick up some clothes on the floor. I tell AIA to get my bag and schedule ready. I go to the restroom and set the shower and sink to the right temperature and get ready for school. I get my bag and get onto the bus that has been waiting outside for me. 

I hop on the bus and find my friend Erin. I start telling him all about the game. I show him the bruise and how when I got shot it felt like I was really getting shot. He says it must be a glitch because that only happens in the VR competitions where people compete for money. 

“How do you win the competition?” I ask.

“You have to be the first to complete all 500 levels. It takes a whole week for the competition to finish.”

We get to school and go to our classes. School was slow. I had the usual classes math, English, history, and EI class (electronic intelligence). I get home and get straight back into the game when my mom calls me to come downstairs. I go down and see a man on the couch drinking some wine.

“Lucas, this is Mr. Oscar, he is here to talk to you about your VR gaming.”

“Hello, Lucas. Me and my colleagues have been watching you play and we want to ask you to represent America in the international VR competition with a few other kids.”

I was so shocked I could not talk at all.

“What do I get if I compete?”

“You will have the chance to win 500,000,000 dollars and will also receive an RSVR headset for participating (Razor Speed Virtually Reality).” He must have seen that my mom did not want me to go so he said that I will be monitored by professional doctors so I will be in safe hands. He looked at his watch and he said it was time for him to go. He gave his card and said if I want to compete, call him. 

Chapter 2

Saturday morning was slow, I lay on my bed trying to figure out what had just happened yesterday.

Maybe a bath would help me.

“AIA turn on the bath and set the water to warm.”

“Yes Mr. Lucas setting the bath to warm, would you like bubbles?”

“No thanks AIA.”

I stripped off my clothes and dipped my body in. I sat there for an hour thinking about all of the possibilities of what would happen if I went on the trip. Like if I won it could help me and my mom with rent and I would be able to have the best gear for gaming. I get out of the bathtub, put on my headset, and continue the game that I was playing. I finish the level and lay back down on my bed.

“AIA.”

“Yes, Mr. Lucas.”

“Call Mr. Oscar, and tell him I’m going.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Lucas? Your mom will not approve of this.”

“I am sure, AIA.”

I am still packing my bag trying to figure out what to wear. 

“AIA, order new Nike clothes and have them shipped in now!”

“Yes, Mr. Lucas.”

I go over to the PTD (Portable Transporter Device) that I got for Christmas and grab the clothes that I ordered. I finished packing and put on the headset. I had to get ahead of the other people that I am competing against. I put the mode on EC (Extreme Challenge) and started to game. I played all the way until I could no longer stand. I had bruises all over my body and one cut that was dripping with dark red blood.

“AIA, give me the first aid kit.”

I grab the sewing needle inside and sew it back together. 

Three days till I fly out. Mr. Oscar says that he will check in with me tomorrow to go over who I will be competing against and who will be on my team.

The next day, Mr. Oscar came over to pick me up. I grabbed my bag and hopped

in the car. I said bye to my mom as the car pulled away.

“So can you show me the people on my team?”

“Sure, here are some photos.”

I analyzed the photos, two other boys one had a military haircut and had a devilish look on his face. The other one had brown curly hair and freckles all over his face. We stopped at a big building with the words V.R. Corps in big bold letters. 

“Put this on,” Oscar said.

He gave me a silver suit that said AVR team (American Virtual Reality), then we went into the elevator and went up into a big room.

“Stay in here, I will be right back.”

He left the room and came back with the two boys that were on my team.

“These are your teammates, Lucas.”

The boy with the military haircut said that he was Romelo. The boy with the freckles was Lee.

“You have all been chosen to compete and you must work together in order to win, so get to know each other. When you guys are ready, you may start to practice in the hub. 

He points to a room behind us.

“Well, I will leave you boys to it. If you need me, just call me using your suit. I have put a personal AIA in each of your suits.” And after, he left the room.

“Listen up, dweebs, I am going to make this nice and easy. Mess with me and I will make sure that you don’t make it to the competition,” Romelo says with a nasty tone. 

“Now get to practice!”

We enter the hub and put on the RSVR headsets. 

Chapter 3

We complete each level with ease. We finished all of the puzzle challenges with the help of Lee. We finished all of the shooting and physical levels with the help of Romelo. But I was not much help at all. I could tell that they were starting to get annoyed with me because I am not as experienced in VR like them.

“Do you understand how to complete maze levels?” Lee would ask me. 

“Do you know how to aim for the head?” Romelo would ask me.

I could not take this anymore so I left the hub and take a break. I grabbed a cup of coffee, a bag of chips, and turned the TV on.

“AIA, how much time do I have until we fly to Montana for the competition?”

“You have 22 hours and 28 minutes left.”

I put my headset back on and practiced more and more. We are all so tired. Well, with the exception of Lee, who is never hungry or tired. We go to bed and fall into a deep sleep. 

“Hey, loser.” I get out of bed to see Romelo waving me over.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Dude, look at Lee. What a weirdo, he is still in the hub playing and I have been watching him for 9 hours.” 

“What the, is he like some sort of robot or what?”

“Whatever dweeb, I’m going to sleep now. We fly out first thing in the morning.”

On the airplane, Mr. Oscar tells us all about our competition and who to watch out for. He tells us that we will not be able to leave the game so use the restroom before the game starts. We all look at him with a bored face because this is the ninth time he has told us. 

I play some music and fall asleep. I get awoken to the sound of yelling. I see Mr. Oscar yelling at Lee and then clicking his neck with something. I had no idea what it was, but it must have been a comms device cause he started to talk about random stuff. 

“Hey Lee, what was Mr. Oscar yelling to you about?”

“None of your business!”

“Ok, sorry.”

Chapter 4

I looked outside the window to see what Montana looked like because I had heard stories that it was mountains and big lakes and all sorts of wildlife. But it was just buildings, workhouses. We landed and went directly into a limo!

“Damn this is my kind of ride,” Romelo said with an amazed tone.

The limo took us to this warehouse. It was all white inside and the AC (Air Conditioning) was on high, so it was so cold inside. Mr. Oscar took us to a room where he said he would get the other groups. Five minutes later, he came back with two other groups. 

“These are the people you will be competing against. I want to see nice and good sportsmanship, ok. No fighting. I will be back in three hours, I have to get the course set up.”

“You guys are going down, we going to win this and none of you losers will get in my way.”

“Romelo take it easy, this is just a friendly competition, ok?”

We get to our own hub and put on our headset. A voice comes up.

“Game starting in 3, 2, 1…”

The pixels start to form into a jungle. We start the game. We blow through the first 250 levels with ease. As we went through the levels, Romelo and I couldn’t walk anymore. Our legs were full of bruises and cuts and we needed to rest for a little while.

“Lee, stop moving please, we need a break.”

I get up and touch his shoulder. He grabs my arm and throws me to the ground. 

“The weak will die.” 

Just as he says that, he pulls out a gun and shoots Romelo in the head. His particles go away and that was it. Romelo was out of the competition. 

“What the hell, you are such an idiot!!!” 

Lee pointed his gun at me but the game paused and the locks on our headsets released. I took it off and went looking for Romelo. 

“Romelo, where are you?!”

I saw Mr. Oscar and asked him where Romelo was.

“Romelo said that he did not want to compete anymore so we had Lee kill him in the game and we sent him back home.”

Chapter 5

There is no way that Romelo wanted to go home. There has to be more than the eye could see. At night, I will follow Mr. Oscar through the vent to see what is up.

1:30, time to shine. I got out of bed and unscrewed the vent. I hopped in and saw

Mr. Oscar walking towards a room. The vent was so dusty and smelled of decay. I followed the sound of Mr. Oscar’s voice to a room where there were scientists everywhere with clipboards and typing on computers. What is this place?

“Sir, Group 47 is not doing so well, they are all still on level 100 to 110. Only one group has reached the average. And why did you give them an extra day of rest, now the data won’t be fair! Ohh and just to mention, you killed a test subject!” 

“I don’t care! You asked me for test subjects, I give you test subjects. One sees the lab or anything else, they get eliminated. Plus they’re all gonna die either way and we have more test subjects so take a chill pill.”

 What? How is this happening? There’s no way. This can’t be true. How could they kill innocent kids just for some dumb stupid experiment? I have to get out of here.

“Lee (Logitec Experiment Executioner), please come over here. I think that Lucas is onto us. On the next level, kill him and then eliminate the rest. We will bring in the next batch of kids after this is done.”

“Yes, Mr. Oscar.”

“Now go and charge yourself. I can’t have you run out of batteries during the competition.”

“Yes, Mr. Oscar.” 

I started to make my way back to my bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened. I always knew that something was up, but they were killing kids! I jumped back onto the bed. 

All of a sudden, I heard footsteps in the front of the door. I quickly pretended to be sleeping.

“I told you he’s fine, he was just sleeping the whole time.”

I peek out from under my pillow to see Mr. Oscar and a scientist at the door.

“Alright, let’s get the game ready for tomorrow. Oh and make the levels for Lucas extra hard. We need to make his death look like an accident.”

“Yes sir.”

Chapter 6

I get out of bed and get ready for the game. I am met by Mr. Oscar and Lee.

“How did you sleep, Lucas?”

“Fine.”

“Ok well just want to wish you good luck, you only have 3 levels left.”

“Thanks, I really wish that Romelo was here.”

“I know it’s a shame that he wanted to leave.”

“Yeah, it’s like he was killed.”

“Haha, your sense of humor always seems to get me, Lucas.”

We walk into the hub and put on the headsets. Again, the voice comes up.

“Game starting in 3, 2, 1.”

The pixels load and we are on top of a huge building. We go on to complete the level. We have to get a key that is hanging from a pole that is high up in the sky.

“You climb the pole, I will hold it so you don’t fall,” Lee says with a smirk on his face.

“No it’s fine I think you should climb.” 

“Ok be sure to hold the pole tight.”

He gets onto the pole and grabs the key. I sigh because he wasn’t going to kill me.

We unlock the door to the next level. 

This level is about aim, again someone had to climb up high and hold a board where the teammate has to shoot. I grab the gun and he gets the board. Success! We continue to the next level. 

Last level, we spawn on top of a bridge. We need to get down from the bridge without falling. In order to get down we either climb down a rope that is slippery, or we walk down the rail of the bridge with the wind blowing at us.

“I think that we should go down the rail,” I shout.

The wind is so loud that we can not hear each other. I turn to look at the rail when I see Lee running at me and kick me in the stomach. I stumble back and lose my footing. I grab onto the rail just in time and get back up. He comes running at me again and I dodge him. He almost falls off the bridge but stays on.

“That’s it. I have had enough of this nonsense.”

He pulls out a gun and points it at me. 

“Please, Lee, don’t do this, you don’t have to.”

“I am programmed this way.”

I grab the rope and wrap it around my waist and a metal pole. He shoots but I dodge it. I run at him and we both go plummeting down the bridge. The rope catches me Lee is holding on from my hand.

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“You don’t have to.”

He lets go and his pixels go away. I get off the bridge and leave the game. My locks release and I run out of the hub. Mr. Oscar is waiting for me outside. 

“Congrats, kid. You win.”

“Where are the other competitors?”

“All went home after you won.”

“How could you kill them? You are such a monster.”

“What are you talking about?”

“BS, don’t lie to me. Tell me, why did you kill them!”

“That’s classified, and now that you know, it’s your time as well.”

He pulls out a gun and shoots me in the chest. Blood drips from my chest and mouth.

“I’m sorry, Lucas but this is the only way,” he says with tears and walks away.

I sit there waiting to die, staring at the blank white ceiling, thinking about all the people who died. Then I fall to the ground.

***

One day later in an airplane

“Hello, sir this is Oscar, postpone the mission.” 

“For what reason?” 

“All test subjects have failed the test. None of them were able to complete the levels.”

“Don’t lie to me, Oscar. I have the data, it’s already been sent to me.”

“Yes, sir… what are you going to do with this data?”

“I can’t tell you that, Oscar.”

“Five years of studying human instincts and killing people and you won’t tell me what you are using it for?”

“This concludes our call. We will talk when we meet when you get home.”


The Crevice

The Shenandoah mountains are the perfect place to hike, especially in the fall. The leaves are my favorite part. They’re wet to the touch today. It rained this morning. My parents didn’t feel like hiking, so I convinced my sister to take me. She only takes me so she can take photos for her Instagram, I think. I don’t mind, though. I just like being here.

The trail is pretty empty today, so I can do my favorite thing without being judged. I think I get judged a lot, picking up rocks like that. My sister tells me to stop; I’m a fifteen-year-old girl, she says. And people give me this funny face, like they feel bad for me. That’s the worst part. The pity. 

I don’t like pity. It’s a way to look down on people by looking nice. It’s just another way to mask the nasty thoughts that are floating around in people’s brains. I have nasty thoughts too. I think that my older sister is a follower and my younger sister is flirty and my mother is too tall and my father is too fat. But I don’t pity them. Nobody deserves that. 

When people see me squatting in the mud like that, digging around for rocks, they sometimes say I’m on “the spectrum”, all loud and stuff, as if I don’t know what it means. I’m not, I don’t think. It’s not like I check.

It’s harder to find rocks today, probably because of all the fallen leaves. I wonder if it’s fun or scary to fall like this. Like a leaf. My older sister, Janet, says I shouldn’t say stuff like this, but I still think it. Thinking is a hobby of mine. Every rock that I pick up makes me think. I spot one in the middle of the trail. It kind of looks like a lowercase “B”. It makes me think about my name.

Benny is a stupid name. I would understand it if my parents had named me Benjamin, but my mother says that it is “simply unsuitable” for a girl. So why is Benny any better? Benny, that’s it. The whole package. 

I remember the first time the name’s irregularity dawned on me. It was the summer before first grade, and we were moving into our new house. The house seemed nice. My parents painted it butter yellow, which I hated, but it had big windows and a cool old attic, so the weird color didn’t bother me so much. The first day we drove into that driveway was just to show us kids the new house. The first thing I noticed was the dog poop right outside the car, but my sister seemed to notice something more interesting. A small apartment building loomed across the alley from the new house, and who should be on the lawn but two boys. While my older sister chattered about the older one and my younger sister whined about having boys for next door neighbors, I focused my attention on the little surprise outside of the door. There was no way I was stepping in it. After we made it into the house without any mishaps, I finally turned my attention to the minor situation at hand: the neighbor boys. There they were, on our front porch. Nobody would dare answer the door. My younger sister, Vienna, three at the time, held her stuffed elephant close. Janet, nine at the time, stuck her nose up and said that they probably had cooties. So there they went, my two sisters, clambering up the stairs to pick out their rooms. 

Gingerly, I opened the door. The boys looked smaller in person, and pretty clean. I couldn’t see any cooties from the doorstep. The younger one was tilting his head so much I thought it might pop off. The older one looked nervous, clutching the container in his hand for dear life. He was, it seems, because he dropped the container on the floor and ran off. 

That left me and the younger one.

His head was still tilted a lot, and he had a curious expression on his face. 

“Careful,” I said matter-of-factly, like my doctor, Dr. Kneeler. “I’m afraid it might pop off.” The idiot didn’t change one thing! 

“What?” He drew out the word. He sounded pretty whiny. I decided to do what needed to be done. His neck still cracks a lot. I guess I shoved it a little hard. 

Mitchell, that’s his name, but I call him Mitch and he calls me Ben and we’re still good friends, despite the whole neck thing. Usually he would collect rocks with me, but he has to go to church today and I don’t. You could say I’m not religious. 

The hunt for rocks is getting tricky, so I decide to just run ahead to the best part of the hike: the summit. The summit is a challenge every time I reach it. I’m not the biggest fan of heights, and rock climbing isn’t my thing. But Mitch and I found a loophole: the pit. In the brown rocks that form the tippy top of the mountain lies a crevice. If you get nice and flexible like Mitch and I did from our circus classes, you can wiggle your way into it. And voila! The perfect hideout. Janet usually stays behind, because she doesn’t like what the big gusts of wind does to her hair, so I run ahead, usually, just like today. Once I reach the rocky surface, I climb towards the crevice nice and slow, because the rain makes the smoother rocks pretty slick. I almost fall off anyway when I see what’s scattered all over the crevice. It glints in the sun. I shriek.

And that’s what starts it all. I like the word ruckus; I’ll use that. That’s what starts all the ruckus. There’s always that something that someone finds that causes all the ruckus. I’ve seen enough movies to know that. But I’m not running away from the ruckus, not today. I always do that, and look where it got me. Today, I’m taking my sister’s LuluLemon tote bag and taking ruckus. A lot of it. 


hi, i’m jojo

CHAPTER II

On the inside of the house, there’s a huge sectional couch with a couple big chairs across from it. A large chandelier is shining bright light onto the elaborate fabrics on the couch and chairs and reflecting off of the glass coffee table in the middle. In the back of this room is a big, carpeted staircase.

We walk through a hallway into the dining room. Inside is a long table with 14 chairs: six on each side and one on each end. The huge vase of flowers in the middle of the table sits atop a runner.

“It’s awfully well furnished and maintained for an abandoned house,” notices Eriphili. Raphael and Clarice nod in agreement.

The kitchen is adjacent to the dining room and is filled with all sorts of cutlery, plates, glasses, and some lemons hanging out in a bowl by the stove.

“There’s even fresh food,” adds Clarice. “I wonder why it’s so… well… different from the outside.”

“I’m outta here,” decides Loki, running to the door. He tries to pull the door open. 

“Hey, Clarice?” he shouts, his voice slightly quivering.

“Yes?” Clarice yells back.

“You didn’t lock this door, right?”

“No! Why would I be that stupid?”

“Well… I guess we have an issue.” We all run over to the door.

“What’s our issue?” asks Raphael, his face crinkled up with worry.

“Um… see for yourself.” Raphael grabs the door knob and pulls. Nothing happens. I grab onto the doorknob and we both pull. Nothing.

Soon, everyone is pulling on the doorknob as if our lives depended on it, and right now they actually might.

The door still doesn’t open.

Suddenly, a huge voice echoes through the house.

“Ha ha ha! I see you have entered my house!” The voice has a thick German accent and is very high and squeaky.

“Hello? Who are you?” yells Eriphili.

“Oh, just a passing ghost, not much to be concerned about. Endivay, you have 24 hours to find a vay out. If you don’t, vell… let’s just put it zis vay. Sometimes you try your best but you don’t succeed, and zen crazy animatronic killer monkeys come and kill you!”

Chills run up and down my spine and neck, munching away at my bones like animatronic monkeys as I realize what this means: if we don’t find a way out in the next 24 hours, we’ll be killed. Loki grabs Clarice and I can see Raphael and Eriphili tense up.

Raphael seems to be imagining what death is like because his face is turning the color of porcelain and he’s holding a hand at his mouth. His eyes are wide open and I can see the fear glazing them like they’re donuts.

“So… how exactly do we get out?” Eriphili asks, but she gets no response.

“Well, I guess we should go look around,” I suggest. Loki and Clarice start heading towards another room opposite from the dining room and kitchen. The rest of us follow them.

The room seems pretty normal. At least until I notice a small door in the back of the room.

“Hey, people, maybe this door leads to something helpful!” Clarice, Eriphili, Raphael, and Loki run over to where I’m standing and I pry open the door. Inside, there’s a narrow wooden staircase.

I step onto the first stair to check if it’s solid. It is, so I continue up the stairs. Once I reach the top, I am greeted by a wall. I groan. 

Then there’s a random and short flicker of light, revealing a keyhole.

“Hey, people!” I yell down the stairs. “I found some sort of keyhole!” I hear the pounding of feet as everyone runs up the stairs, meeting me at the top.

“Let me see!” whines Eriphili. “I know how to pick locks!” 

“I know how to pick locks,” mocks Loki, being his normal rude self. 

“Shut up,” says Eriphili, pushing past Clarice to the door. Loki kicks her. “Hey! If you touch me one more time, I will slaughter you. Got it?” Eriphili pulls a dagger out of her backpack to prove it.

“Eriphili!” I yell. “Why do you have a dagger?”

“Oh, you never know when you’ll need it.”

“But people don’t just carry around daggers!” protests Raphael.

“I do. Ah… I see. An HYT Chain Key lock… it’s unpickable.”

“Even with your dagger?” scoffs Loki. Eriphili rolls her eyes.

Raphael moans and starts jumping back down the stairs.

“What if we look around the house for the key?” suggests Eriphili. I nod.

“Alright. Let’s split up. Loki and I will go upstairs, Raphael will search this floor, and Kingsley and Eriphili will search the basement,” decides Clarice.

Eriphili and I walk towards the stairs, hoping that they have an opposing stairway that leads to the basement.

I search all around the stairs, but don’t see anything that could potentially lead to a third floor.

“Hey, Kingsley!” yells Clarice from the second floor. “I think I see something that could lead to the basement!”

I run up the stairs to where Clarice is standing, Eriphili right behind me. The second floor is made of a huge carpeted hallway with numerous rooms spread randomly among the floor.

“What is it?” I ask Clarice. She points to a little square outlined with thin black Sharpie. However, the square is on the ceiling. “Well, how are we supposed to reach that?”

“I don’t know,” Clarice replies. 

“What if we try walking up the wall?” suggests Eriphili.

“Do you seriously think that would work?” Clarice snaps back.

“I think it’ll work better than you and your annoying boyfriend sitting around doing nothing this entire time!”

“Don’t say that to her,” yells Loki.

“Hey! People!” I yell.

“It’s not like you or Loki have done anything!” says Eriphili, her voice rising.

“Oh, really? We’re the ones that found the trap door!” protests Clarice.

“You’re also the one who can’t survive a creepy bus driver without crying into Loki’s shoulder!” Loki runs up to Eriphili and prepares to punch her.

“Hey! Loki! Stop! None of you are helping us get anywhere! You’re just wasting time that we need! All your bickering is completely pointless! So shut up and do something! All of you!” I shout. Loki’s face looks sheepish as he wanders away from Eriphili, who is crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. Clarice puts her hands on her hips and I can see her nostrils flaring. 

Eriphili walks over to the wall and presses her hand on it. Then she presses her foot on. She lifts her other foot off the ground and, amazingly, she stays on the wall.

“Woah!” I say, doing the same on a different part of the wall. However, I fall down and land on the hard ground with a THUMP! “Ow!”

“I guess it only works on this part of the wall,” concludes Eriphili. So, once she’s up on the ceiling, I climb up after her. “Now, how do we open up this door?”

“Maybe just try to pull it,” says Clarice. Eriphili rubs her hand along the edge of the square, searching for any sort of notch that she could pull.

“Here,” she says, and then she grabs a little dip in the ceiling and pulls it. The squeaky door flies open. “You first.”

I crawl over to the hole in the ceiling and hoist myself up. It’s like a vent: square and metal. Every movement creates an echo that runs all the way down to the end of the crawl space and back. I start crawling down it and Eriphili tails behind me. Suddenly, I hear a switch flip, and then drop down a hole in the crawl space and keep falling, falling, falling.

I land on a huge pillow-like thing. Lights turn on, going all the way up to the top of the hole where I see Eriphili’s round face. She’s holding her dagger.

“I hope you’re not scared of clowns!” she yells, her mouth in a huge grin that reveals her teeth. They almost look like fangs. Then she cackles and the roof of the hole closes up.

All the walls around me pull backwards, creating a small pit with tunnels going out in every direction. The lights turn multicolored and start shining all around the room. Creepy carnival music starts blasting throughout the room.

“Wait! Eriphili!” I yell, but it’s no use. She’s gone.

The room is about seven feet by seven feet. The crazy-colored lights are making my head hurt a little bit, and the music is not helping. 

This is probably just a joke, I think. I really hope it is, because the aesthetic in this room is really creeping me out.

All of a sudden, I see a figure coming into the room. It has a white cloak, and I can’t really see what else it looks like. Is it an angel?

No, not at all.

The thing that is coming towards me wears a huge white robe and its face looks like Pennywise. It’s clutching a huge dagger in its right hand–no, its left hand. And the dagger is the same as Eriphili’s.

“Hello, Kingsley Caligari! Would you like to play with me? Forever and ever and ever and ever?” I recognize the voice. While the clown is still far away from me, I scan my mind for who it could be. Then I land on someone: Eriphili.

“Um… not really…” I answer.

“Too bad!” yells Eriphili. She leaps towards me and I jump to the side. The knife slices my right pinky finger off. I yelp in pain and dash off to one of the tunnels. Eriphili follows me. Suddenly there’s a clang on one of the other sides of the pit. Eriphili turns and starts walking towards it; I think she thinks that I’m over there.

Then I have a revelation: since the clown is Eriphili, she must be wearing a mask. Therefore, she can’t see, and only relies on her hearing to capture me.

I slowly tiptoe backward into one of the tunnels and Eriphili doesn’t notice.

When I get into the tunnel, I rip off my sweater to try to staunch the bleeding from my finger.

I almost reach the end of the tunnel when I hear clanging like cymbals. I look all around me and see nothing except a figure in the distance.

As it gets closer to me, I see a monkey figure. In its mouth it has huge sharp teeth and blood splattered around its mouth. The eyes are different sizes and the larger one is rolling around in its socket. 

“Oh, no,” I mutter as I notice that the sweater didn’t help, and that the blood is draining out of my finger like a storm drain during a hurricane. I start becoming dizzy and I can’t see straight. I think the monkey is close to me… or is it far? Now there are two. Or maybe I’m just seeing double. 

A white border starts creeping into my vision. It slowly takes over everything except the bloody, satanic face of the monkey.

Then everything goes black. And it stays that way for a while.


The Golden City

Chapter One

“In San Francisco, you’re going to love San Francisco,” my mom said excitedly. “The city is so pretty at night. We’ll be surrounded by water on three sides and a mountain on the fourth. There won’t be snow there, though. I know you’ll miss the snowstorms we have here!”

Pictures swirled across my mind as I imagined bright billboards and flashing lights. The city would be nothing like the small Pennsylvania neighborhood onlooking the Susquehanna in my little corner of the world.

“We’ll make up for it with some of the things you love. Applecrest has a great drama program. And if I do recall, a science program as well! You’ll be thriving,” my mom added cheerfully while making dinner.

“But what about Dad?” I glanced up at her as I sat curled up on the couch. I bundled the edge of a blanket and tucked it close to my chin. I was going to miss my dad, who lived all the way in Lancaster. I’d been visiting him on the weekends since I was nine.

“We’ve already arranged things, Rosie. You’ll spend the fall and a bit of summer break down here with him. We can even schedule activities for you and Chrissie down here. Things will be so perfect.”

But things are already perfect as they are, I thought to myself, pondering everything that would never be the same.

“You know I’m never forgiving you for this, right?” Chrissie huffed, arms crossed as she stared at me sadly. “You’re basically my only friend, Rosie. It’s sad but true. I’ll miss you so much…” Chrissie grabbed my hand and walked sulkily along the sidewalk like a wilting flower. 

I couldn’t console my friend when I needed consoling myself. “I’ll email you. I promise. It’s not like I’ll be making any friends at Applecrest, anyways.”

“Maybe someday, I can come visit you there. The Golden City,” Chrissie exclaimed, saying the name of my new home with pizzazz. “You know what they say. There’s gold in the hills! And the sunsets are warm and golden. And people say that the hills shimmer golden in the summers, too!”

“That’s just a silly nickname. There’s more fog than sun in the city. The water might be pretty, but not prettier than the Susquehanna. There’s a drama program, but I don’t think anyone will like me…”

“Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. Think on the bright side. You’ll get away from this boring place. Wish I was in your shoes.” Chrissie flashed me a smile that seemed pained but hopeful.

I rolled my eyes. Chrissie, of all people, didn’t understand how I was feeling. 

“One of Pennsylvania’s nicknames is Oil State. How pathetic is that? Compare The Golden City to Oil State!”

“Whatever, Chrissie. Since obviously you don’t get it, I’ll go wallow in self-pity by myself.” I stormed off annoyedly in the direction of my house.

“Geez! Well, I’m sad too! I was just trying to make you feel better!” she yelled after me, and I could tell by the quivering of her voice that she was about to cry. 

I ignored her, although my inner conscience was telling me not to keep stalking away. I turned back after a few seconds and saw Chrissie walking home to her neighborhood in the other direction, hanging her head like a gloomy scarecrow.

Chapter Two

Chrissie seemed so miserable and upset that I knew I couldn’t just walk away. I was almost home now, under the canopy of the huge willow tree by the playground connecting our neighborhoods. Chrissie always knew the right thing to say in every situation — maybe I was the problem. Maybe I misinterpreted her because I was so busy feeling bad for myself.

I turned around, speeding up my pace a little to catch up with Chrissie. She was passing through the cul-de-sac leading to her house.

 “Chrissie! Wait up!” I called, running toward her and sliding into the spot on the sidewalk next to her.

Chrissie didn’t seem surprised by me; she just hugged her arms to her chest and continued walking. “What is it, Rosie? Do you want me to talk about how awful San Francisco is? Make you feel better by talking about how amazing Pennsylvania is?”

“Look, Chrissie. I was really mean… I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to help. I’m really going to miss you,” I said, and after a few seconds we both went in for a hug. 

“I’ll miss you too. Too bad you’re leaving tomorrow… I’ll have to cancel the party. I’m not even nearly done decorating quite yet.”

“What party?” I giggled.

“Your going away party, silly,” Chrissie laughed, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. “I’ve been planning it since you told me a week ago.”

I froze, jaw open like a cod fish. Chrissie had planned a party for me? She was the best friend I could ever ask for.

“No way we’re cancelling this party! Let’s get decorating!” I exclaimed as the two of us grinned and headed in the direction of Chrissie’s house.

It was moving day. We had packed up the entire house — all that was left were dust bunnies and yearly height marks on the walls. I had spent some of the morning jumping from box to box, which had resulted in some bent cardboard and my very angry mother.

I sat here at Chrissie’s house, admiring everything we had done — the golden confetti and streamers, the giant map of Pennsylvania, the ice cream cake that read Bon Voyage, Rosie! in shimmering golden letters covered in edible glitter.

Maya, Isabel, Carly, and a few other girls in our grade were here, gathered around the kitchen table as my mom, my dad, and Chrissie’s parents poured sparkling cider into our cups.

After my mom had poured cider into Chrissie’s, she grinned and held her plastic red cup high in the air. “I’d like to propose a toast in honor of my forever best friend, Rosie. Of course I’ll miss her, but I hope she likes San Francisco. And I can’t wait to see her in the fall and the summer.”

“Cheers to The Golden City!” she cheered, then knocked her cup against mine.

“Cheers to The Golden City!” we all shouted, laughing, as we raised our cups in happiness.


Midnight Hour

My mind wanders as I stare out at the constellations on the top deck of The Midnight Hour.

“Leina.” I spin around, half expecting a ghost to be whispering my name through the cool breeze. My mom stands at the edge of the deck beckoning me to go downstairs to my room. Her cool, light brown eyes watch over me closely as I pretend to ignore her. Never once does she use the world sleep. My family doesn’t believe the night ends day, and bedtime has never been an issue for their only daughter. She trusts me to know when my body needs to rest and plans the rest of my day around it, only on nights like this one does she actually care what time my body falls asleep. The calendar has already been laid out for tomorrow. 

I turn to look at my mom. Xandra Morrigan has always been gorgeous, dark black hair, soft tan skin, and curvy hips, as well as being the perfect owner and manager of the large ship I call my home. My mom has never told me where the ship came from or how it came to be hers, though I never viewed it as my place to ask.

“Magdalena,” my mom says, her smile faltering into a slight frown as I rise from my leaning position on the fence guarding the drop into the ocean. I roll my eyes, kissing her cheek before running down the stairs to go to bed. My parents are planning on hosting a masquerade tomorrow, to celebrate my father’s 51st birthday. Even though it is well past midnight, the crew of The Midnight Hour will be preparing and decorating the ship the entire day right up until we dock at Celestia Cove tomorrow evening. We have just over 100 staff with us at the moment, their sleeping quarters are located on the second level of the ship, only above the cargo area, and next to the kitchen. They are usually only with us for a month or so to earn a little extra before returning to their normal residences, though some use their appointment as a free method of travel to get to a particular destination to see relatives, or spend vacation. The third level of the ship is our ballrooms and dining areas. Our small family area is located in the back of this floor, with my parents’ grand master suite right next store. This is where my family and I spend most of our time. Other guest rooms and guest access is on the fourth floor with the main deck right above. 

The outside of our ship is largely uninteresting, with metal covering most of the outside and concrete holding up the decks. No one knows how the ship can support this giant concrete flooring, though no one questions it since this is the way it’s always been. Our ship seems quite large compared to other ships we pass. Our ship is currently around 650 square feet, with additions happening around every 5-10 years. I have had two renovations in my lifetime. Our current capacity is around 1,500 guests depending on the amount of staff staying with us at the moment. This usually allows us to entertain every adult in the island or coastal town we have decided to dock at for the festivities.

The halls are deserted as I make my way through the ship. My room is currently located at the back end in one of our smaller guest rooms, so I can stay away from current festivities, and so I have easy access to both my dress and changing rooms. Fatigue overtakes my body, though not my mind, as I stumble my way through the halls, tripping over my own feet as I run. Despite what I may look like, bloodshot eyes, rumpled hair, ragged fingernails that I am scolded on for chewing everyday, I don’t feel the slightest bit tired because I know I need to do one more thing before climbing into bed. 

Once I reach my door, I creep into my room and flick on the lights. My room illuminates with a pale, white glow dancing off of the sandy-colored walls. My bed sits in the middle of the room right up against the wall to the left of me as I walk in. Its bright, blue-colored bedsheets stand out as virtually the only color besides the starlight casting my light blue rug into what reminds me of Marena’s city lights, my favorite island off of the mainland. As I spin around to face my closet, I catch my reflection in the mirror which hangs over my brown, wooden dresser. I always liked the way I looked at night better, my gray, green-gray eyes are squinted into slits from minimal light, making me feel powerful and deceptive. My short-cut black hair hangs over my eyes jaggedly, wavering as the fan above my head attempts to push it out of my now black-looking eyes. The rest of my face I rarely notice in the frenzy of various maids trying to match dresses with my already complex complexion. I have bright rosy cheeks that stand out against my harsh olive skin tone, with a long, tipped-up, pointy nose to finish. I grin wickedly at the thought of the maids trying to dress me tomorrow now that I have cut off most of my wild hair with a sharp butcher’s knife. I have always preferred the look of shorter hair and I thought it would require less maintenance when either climbing or getting ready for a party. My pointy lips fade into a smirk as I turn to look at my dress selections for the rest of the night.

“White, black, blue, purple,” I mutter the colors of each dress I look at that is currently in my closet. “Red,” I say at last. “That’s what I want.”

The night is cold and windy, though during the summer, the stars that shine off of The Midnight Hour look as brilliant as ever reflected in the midnight blue water below. I find sneaking out onto the lower deck off the side of the kitchen is a good way to calm my anxious spirits before going to bed. Red, I think again as I watch my flowy silk red dress sail over the water, allowing the rest of my body to breathe in the night sky. Red goes well with midnight blue. I laugh as my fingers brush the edge of the water, illuminated only by the moon and the stars. The lower deck is my favorite one to sneak out onto because of its lack of a railing. This gives me the ability to literally hang onto the handrails and allow my feet to dangle above the starlit waters. I yell as loud as I can muster into the wind whipping my face, telling it to carry me away.

“Take me to the place of wind and weeping willows.” I choke my powerful calls into a delicate whisper. “To the places where stars are places I can visit and the moon is the light I use to read and write.” I pause, gasping as though I have said too much, and maybe I have.

Magic has always been a part of this greater world that I have never gotten the chance to be a part of, wishing it were there. I have always known I have it, and it runs through me like a sheepdog would herd its cattle. I feel it now, boiling under my skin, caressing my head and my body until I can’t feel anything else. The wind starts to gush around me, making my hair fly out from my neck. This is my magic, who I am. This is it, I think. I know the wind will carry me to somewhere I want to be, somewhere, where I can live my life. And, it does.


Pulling Me Back Under

Everything was quiet.

Everything was still. The hands of the clock shifted letting out a sharp ringing sound alerting everything that it was now three am. The sound echoed throughout the empty house, shaking its walls. Everything stopped, everything stayed still as if it were afraid to breathe. As if it were afraid to scream. Nothing moved as I felt that nothing would, yet I couldn’t help feeling like something would happen. Like something was there watching me, waiting for me to move, breath, or scream. I felt the chills crawl up my spine and into my shoulders. I felt caged in my body, imprisoned, not able to break free. I was standing there still alone in the empty house waiting. Waiting for something to happen, waiting to see it breathe. Still I felt there was something behind me, something about to jump and release me from this trance where I’m stuck, waiting. The clock chimed again. However, when I turned to look it was three am again. The sound chimed another time again. I felt something reach into the depths of my soul, something I had never felt before. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t open my lips. They felt like stone pressed closed not able to move. The clock chimed again. Everything went black. It was as if it were a blink that my eyes had never opened from.

I woke up in my bed dazed and confused. I could not recall whether my dream was a fragment of my imagination or if it was a reality. I could smell the savory smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. I felt chills all over my body. I began to sit up as I rubbed my head, I felt a bump on the back of it. I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I stopped. I was stunned. There she was, cooking bacon. Her soft black hair draping down to her lower back. Her smooth pale skin. She looked so peaceful. She was so quiet. I tried to say something, anything, but my lips were sealed. My legs wouldn’t move, or rather they couldn’t move. She turned around. Her face was so pale and long. She was wearing her white nightgown with the lace hem. It was her favorite. She started walking over to me. Her eyes were white and empty, it felt almost as though you could stare at them for hours and see nothing but emptiness. She touched my face with her long, cold, boney hand. She just stared at me as though she was longing to be there in the moment. She then opened her mouth. I could see her blackened teeth. She reeked of rotting, I felt my nose hairs curl up. She let out a blood curdling scream, and then it all went black. I woke up with my hands grasping my chest. I could hear my heart pounding. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe and I was gasping for air. Finally I realised it was all just a bad dream. 

I looked over at my wooden nightstand to see our wedding photo sitting there. It was just there, like it was calling for me to come home. I thought I put all of my memories of her away. I saw the time on my alarm clock, three am. I wasn’t sure if all of this was a long series of dreams and I am finally awake, or whether I was just stuck in a trance, a paralysis, never to be woken again. It still reeked of rotting. I got up and decided to take a shower to try and calm down. 

I turned the water on and let it run until I saw the steam start to pour out of the curtains, and float up to the ceiling. I stepped into the shower and the water was ice cold. There was steam, but the water was cold. Is this another dream? I thought. I got out to wait for the water to warm up. I looked in the mirror and realised I hadn’t shaved my beard. The mirror started to fog up. I opened it and reached for my shaving cream. I started rubbing it into my beard. I looked down and saw my razor in my hand. It just appeared there, like it was meant to be there. I began to bring the blade to my beard, and watch the hairs fall into the sink. One after the other, as if it were long black rain. I got back into the shower to wash the remaining shaving cream and hairs off. The water was finally warm. Maybe this wasn’t a dream and I was awake again. The water felt good on my skin. All of a sudden the water felt thick and heavy. I looked down to see a thick heavy pool of water. Somehow the water had filled the shower up. I ripped open the curtain to try and get out. The bathroom was still covered in water. It kept rising up and up. I reached for the door trying to escape but it was locked shut. My head was touching the ceiling. Soon I was submerged. I tried to wake up, but I couldn’t. I felt the air run out in my lungs. I turned to see her floating there. She was so beautiful, her hair and nightgown floating up like she was an ethereal creature. Darkness started to close in on me. I felt her soft lips press against mine. I woke up again.

There was a pool of sweat around me. I looked at my alarm and saw it was three am again. This couldn’t be another dream. Why was this happening to me? I got up, grabbed my coat off the foot of my bed, and left my apartment building. The sky was pitch black. There were no stars because they were hiding behind the clouds. The wind swept up the fallen leaves and moved them around through the air as though they were dancing. The streetlamps were flickering and newspapers tumbled around on the ground. I started to walk on the sidewalk. No one was out. I was walking along an empty road filled with abandoned secrets. I started walking along the river. I kept smelling the smell of rotting. Where was it coming from? Was she there? Was she following me? I wasn’t sure. I kept walking faster, scared to look behind me.

There was a tunnel that led to the bridge above the river. I ran to the tunnel, hoping the smell of rotting would not follow me, and she wouldn’t be there. The smell only followed me. I could feel a stream of tears flow out of my eyes and hit my shoulders. The tears felt cold, almost refreshing. I finally reached the bridge and saw blue and red lights flashing up ahead. I thought maybe they could help me. The air felt cooler up here, like a ghost had just walked through your body. The lights kept getting brighter the closer you got to them. My legs felt as though they couldn’t go on much further. My chest hurt and my head was spinning. I finally reached the blue and red lights. They were all gathering towards the right side of the bridge, looking over. There was a big gap in the guardrail. I felt the chills all over my body again. It felt strange this time, almost as though something bad was about to happen. I walked up to them. They all looked sad, however there seemed to be a sort of calmness surrounding them. 

I asked them what had happened. They just stared blankly into the water. One of them asked what had happened, and another one responded that some insane man drove off of the bridge. They then got into their cars and began to drive away. I saw the blue and red lights fade into the distance and then they were gone. I walked across the bridge to the other side, hoping someone over there would help me escape this demon of mine. By the time I reached the town on the other side of the bridge, it was five am. I searched and searched to find someone, anyone who could release me from this pain. As I walked along the sidewalk I heard a bell from behind me. Then I felt something hard hit my head. I turned around to see that there was a boy delivering newspapers on a bicycle. The boy fell over, and I went to go help him up. He looked straight at me, but kept ignoring me. I could tell he did not want my help. 

Once he finally got a hold of it he got up. He hopped on his bicycle and rode away. Now alone I stood there in the dark, in the cold, wondering, waiting. Trying to piece it all together. Maybe I might wake up this time, maybe if I tried hard enough I could go home. I walked over to where the newspaper hit my head. I picked it up and began to read. The chills filled my body again. I felt her. I knew she was near. Why wouldn’t she go away? Why wouldn’t she stop? Tears started to pour out of my eyes and on to the paper. One after the other, weighing the paper down, smearing the ink. Scared for my life, standing there waiting to wake up, wondering how I could wake up, I felt her hand press against my back the way it used to, however it was not the same. It was different. Colder, sadder, lonelier. I felt all of her pain of being alone, all the sadness, all the cold. I continued to read, hoping she would go away. I felt her hand move up to my shoulder, as it fit perfectly into place. It was like we were a puzzle, and all the pieces fit perfectly. I read and read hoping to wake up. The tears kept flowing. The fear kept growing. I stopped. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t speak. My tears stopped running down my cheeks. I didn’t move. The chills were now rapid, crawling all over my body as if they were a nest of ants covering you completely. I turned around to see her, standing there so peacefully. She looked at me and asked if I was ready to go home. I realised I had been running from the truth, and did not remember or know it. The newspaper read: man dead. Drove his car off the bridge into the river. Screaming that he couldn’t live without, his wife. There was a picture of the man. His pale body, his black beard, his lost face. I realised why the boy and the police officers ignored me, why she was here, why the blue and red lights couldn’t help me, why there was a bump on my head.

Everything went dark. Everything was still. Everything stopped, everything stayed still as if it were afraid to breathe. As if it were afraid to scream. Nothing moved as I felt that nothing would. 

Everything was quiet.


Between Four Walls

She, the girl, stands facing sideways towards the mirror, talking fast to distract from the movements she makes, twisting her waist from left to right, her eyes quietly seeking out every imperfection. The mirror is the great enemy. The mirror is the battle. Why does she look so much… doesn’t she know what it reflects by now? Why must one stand for so long looking at a mirror that only reflects what truly is. Or is it possible that one can stand so long looking at the same thing until finally, they forget what the reflection appeared to show in the first place?

What is perfection? Why does everyone want it? It seems much like fog. One is always too far to reach it, but able to get close enough not to abandon it. It is an ever lasting search for satisfaction. Everybody knows they will never find it, but still they continue to look. Maybe they keep looking because if they stop they’ll be faced with the fact that they were looking in the wrong place all along. Or maybe they keep looking because they want to win the battle so much they sacrifice themselves in the process. Maybe.   

***

A plate unfinished. Peas 60 calories, chicken 150 calories, mashed potatoes 300 calories, with butter 75 calories. Total: 585 calories. Too many. Because if I eat this, the person I like won’t notice me and the dress I like won’t fit me and the friends I talk to everyday will stop talking to me and then I’ll be left with nothing to like about myself. So I’ll eat the peas and half the chicken and pretend I had a really big lunch which was actually just an apple and hide the fact that I want to finish the plate and eat three scoops of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate ice cream which I know is in the freezer. But I can’t because if I do then I’ll have nothing left to like about myself. So I’ll go back to my room and lock the door to return to the mirror. And then it will be just the mirror and myself. I strip naked and count every bone I can see, ribs, collar, and shoulders. This reflection I see, how come it doesn’t please me? I eat less, I workout more, but still I can’t see beauty. Why? 

I step on the scale that I long to see all day. But I have to be quick because if my parents saw me I know they’d be concerned. The numbers on the scale start to form, until I see they have gone done. What a relief, because now I can be sure that all my hard work was not for nothing, and a smile starts to form on my face, and I think to myself of how very good I feel. I wish I could share this with someone. My dad calls me downstairs to finish up the dishes so I cover my body with a baggy sweatshirt so no one can see what is actually underneath. So no one can see the truth.

***

Control. She needs it. She thrives on it. Because when her life is falling apart the only thing she has left to dominate is herself. That’s why she’s protecting a secret that is slowly killing her. Even though she knows it will hurt people. Even though it hurts herself. So she keeps fighting the enemy and the battle. But what is the battle now? For the mirror is only a reflection of what truly is. There is no one battle, there is no one reason for all the bad things. If there were, it would all be much simpler as there would only be one thing to get rid of. The mirror, the plate, the scale. . . all the battles that need to be fought to achieve beauty and perfection. That’s what she, the girl, keeps telling herself.

“I ‘ll be perfect and then I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be beautiful and then I’ll be okay.”

But she tried and still she is not okay. Because perfection is like fog, easy to get lost in and never to be reached, and the search for beauty has always been in the wrong place, never to be found. Is it possible the greatest battles were always herself? All along was she her own enemy? After all a mirror only reflects what truly is.

*** 

I am tired of looking at the mirror for every imperfection, and I am tired of the scale going up and down, and I am tired of only eating a quarter of my plate. I am tired of hurting everyone including myself. And I’m tired of forgetting everything that once mattered to me. So I will return to my mirror. The battle that I don’t even remember starting in the first place… CRACK

 Suddenly I see thick warm blood beginning to trickle down my knuckles. Sharp pain shooting through my fist which is pressing against the ice cold mirror. I released my hand from the mirror and slowly started to open up my fingers one by one, each one more painful than the last. My hand is shaking in the end, now covered in blood, a deep crimson red. My wrist ached with a rush of pain coursing through my arm. What is this reflection I see now? Who is this person staring back at me? I can see myself, thin body, only enough skin to cover the bones sticking out of me, but only, this time I look, I am covered by a million cracks, running down my face in every direction. Lines running through my left ribs and chest. But more noticeably a large crack cutting down straight through my face. And finally I can see myself, stuck in this webbed mirror. Stuck in this idea of perfection. Is this who I am? Is this my reflection? After all, a mirror only shows what truly is.


Messages in the Wind

I walked into the kitchen and plopped my school bag on the table. After the chilly walk home from school, the vegetable soup heating on the stove smelled delightful.

“Hi Mom!” 

“Hi Emma,” she said unenthusiastically. 

Then I heard my mom’s phone ringing on the counter. I looked down. The name Johnny popped up on the screen. My mom rushed to her phone to pick up it up. She looked at me with a why-are-you-staring-at-my-phone look. I returned the look with a confused stare, grabbed my bag, then walked upstairs and into my dad’s office. Who could Johnny be?

“Hi Dad,” I said. “I’ll be in my room, ok?” 

My dad sat in front of his desktop, lost in thought. “Hi sweetie, how was your day?” he said, looking up.

“It was fine-” Ding! I looked down at the phone on his desk. Johnny. Again. So my dad knew this Johnny guy too? I didn’t have time to see what the message said, because my dad snatched the phone and shooed me away. 

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework?” 

My parents were acting so weirdly these days. I decided to ignore it for now and go up to my room. Maybe Johnny was just an old friend of theirs. 

I made my way to my desk in front of the big window facing the sea. It’s my favorite place to relax. The window gives me a nice view of our small neighborhood and the Scottish beaches of the Isle of Mull. I opened it to let in the fresh ocean air. 

I took my worksheet out of my folder. Great. Conjugation. My favorite. I sighed. J’aurais, tu aurais, il, elle, on aur-” Suddenly, a flutter outside my window caught my eye and I saw a paper airplane fall into the garden. I opened the window farther and tried to find where the plane had come from, but there was no sign of anybody except my dog, Tanzie, playing in the water with my older brother Mike. He was visiting from his first year of university and he wouldn’t throw a paper airplane at my window. I knew I should finish my conjugations, but I felt intrigued—and a little bit bored with french—and decided to go get the plane. I wandered down to the garden and found it in a flower bed.

When I picked it up, I saw it was made from part of a map. Why a map? It looked a lot like my neighborhood, and I could see something that looked like directions. I climbed the stairs back up to my room where I spread the plane out and unfolded it on my desk. Someone had indeed made the plane out of a map, the kind you find in guidebooks, but I couldn’t find any other information and the directions went off the page. It was interesting, but it wasn’t going to help me with my French so I went back to my conjugation.

But later, during the night, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I had so many questions: Where did the map come from? Would I ever get the other part of the map? Also, who was Johnny? And why were my parents acting so oddly all of a sudden? All those questions exhausted me and I finally fell asleep. 

The next day, my parents behaved as if nothing weird was happening. 

“Good morning Honey!” said my dad, setting a bottle of maple syrup on the rough pine farm table.“I made you french toast. I love that yellow dress!”

“Hey Little Sis!” said Mike, scratching Tanzie’s neck as he sat in his usual spot across from mine.

“Morning, thanks,” I said, sitting down. Not sure if I was thanking Dad for the french toast, the complement, or both. I ate my French toast then walked to our small local middle school. It was a normal school day; maths, english, music, French, and P.E. 

That afternoon, I planned on going to play with Tanzie, my border collie after finishing my homework. After thirty minutes of solving algebraic equations, I saw another flicker in the corner of my vision. My heart beat faster – could it be another map? I rushed down to the garden and grabbed the paper airplane and unfolded it. Another part of the same map! I ran back up to my room and tried to put the two pieces of map together: They fit! But the map was still incomplete. The directions still ran off the page.

Every day that week, I looked forward to coming home from school and getting more and more pieces of the map. After five days, I finally put the final pieces together, I noticed something odd at the bottom of the last piece of the map. I looked more closely and was shocked to find a signature: Johnny. “Oh. My. Goodness.” I murmured. “How..? What…?” I needed to talk to my parents. They couldn’t hide things from me anymore.

I walked into the living room, where Dad read his newspaper and Mom and Mike watched a cooking show on TV. “Mom, Dad, Mike, I think we need to talk.” We gathered around the dining room table. My parents looked worried and my brother just looked confused. 

“I’ve noticed some weird behavior from you, Mom and Dad,” I began. “First of all, the name Johnny keeps popping up on your phones. And then there’s this.”

 I spread the taped-together map out on the coffee table in front of the sofa and pointed to the signature. Their worried expressions told me they had been expecting whatever this was, but weren’t ready. “Can you please tell me who this Johnny guy is, and why he’s been sending me these parts of a map?” 

My parents exchanged looks and muttered something to each other. 

“Hello? Can you answer me please?!” 

They quickly looked back at me, and my mom said “Oh Honey, we’re all sorry. We think you should find that out yourself by following that map.” 

“Wait. ‘we’re all’?! Are you saying Mike knows what this is this about? And why are you sorry?” I felt nearly ready to explode—confused, shocked, and enraged all at once. 

“Calm down!” My dad said, defensively. Yes, he knew. “Fine, I’ll explain: Before- ” 

My mom cut him off. “Stop! No. We need to let Johnny explain. It’s his story.” 

“Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll go figure it out myself.” I snatched the map off the table, grabbed my coat off the hook by the door and stomped out slamming the door behind me. 

I followed the directions and it brought me to the market. I saw a boy, maybe twenty years old, who looked a lot like Mike, standing apart from the small crowd shopping for fresh seafood at the stalls. He seemed to be looking for somebody and when he spotted me and walked carefully over, as if he didn’t want to frighten me.

“Emma? Is that you?”

 I felt confused. “Who are you!?” 

He ignored my question. “I see you got my airplanes” 

“Who are you?!!” I repeated, louder now. 

“My name is Johnny. I’m your brother.” 

I stood, shocked and speechless.

“Let’s sit down on that bench and I’ll explain everything.”

“A few years before our father met your mom, he met a woman called Rose. She got pregnant with me, and when I was born, Rose left our father. She took me with her and we never saw him again. Then our father met your mom and had you and Mike, but my mother never told me I had a sister and brother.” He sighed sadly.

“When I turned thirteen, my mom had to leave me for the military and my grandma took me in, but she died six months later. It was quite a shock for me and it left me scarred. Social workers took me to an orphanage in Harris. My mother never came back and no families adopted me. When I turned eighteen, they let me leave and I got a job at a public library. A friend agreed to let me sleep at his house.” 

What a terrible story, I thought. How could he go through all of that with only one friend?

“But how did you know about my family?” I asked, not wanting to hurt his feelings—he was already scarred for life.

“I started doing research because I wanted to find my father. I got a lot of help from friends and co-workers, but it took me two years. When I found him—last week—I got extremely excited and I called him. He didn’t believe it. He told your mom and your brother, but apparently not you.”

“Wasn’t Mom shocked or furious?” I asked, confused.

“She knew about me when she met our dad, but it was shocking to learn I wanted to come back. It took some persuading but she agreed.” 

“Oh,” I said, still not having all the answers I wanted. “But why did you send me those paper airplanes with the map?”

“Your parents didn’t want to tell you because they felt embarrassed that they hadn’t mentioned anything earlier. We agreed to let you figure it out by yourself and I must say, it was a pretty bad idea.” He chuckled. “I hope you’ll forgive us.”

I stammered. “I…I forgive you.” 

We walked home in silence, thoughts swirling around in my head. Why hadn’t I sensed I had a long lost sibling before? Did my parents know his mom left him? Why had they told Mike and not me? All these thoughts had distracted me and soon we were already home. We entered the living room and my family came to hug us.

“We’re so, so sorry,” said Mom

“Guys, it’s all good,” I said, comforting them.

“Let’s make dinner,” said my dad, “as a family.”

We all agreed and Johnny and I helped Mike make pasta bolognese while mom and dad set the table. We told funny stories and got really close with Johnny. 

“One, two, three—”

“Cheese!”

At Easter holidays, my whole family had decided to go to Edinburgh to celebrate our reunion. We sat beside Edinburgh Castle, beaming at the camera and we probably looked like the happiest family in the city, because we were! My family felt complete and we all had decided that we wouldn’t keep secrets anymore. I never wanted this moment to end. I looked up and saw Johnny, smiling at me, mouthing, “thank you.”


Normar at Dawn

He left early morning, before the sun had even thought of rising. He took the bag he packed last night and was gone. The squeaky stairs and door were a ghost of a sound to the rest of us as we slept soundly. He said he didn’t want us to see him leave, that it would be easier for everybody. Or that’s what he wrote on the little scrap of paper he left behind. I disagree. I grab the other letter he left, the one with my name written on it in blue ink, and quietly leave the house.

I run as fast as my legs can take me down to the port, dodging crates of fish and clams that are being carted up from the fishing boats. They ooze a salty smell that I have grown up surrounded by, that everyone here has. I weave my way between merchants, whose carts are piled high with barrels of seafood, bags full of salt, and piles of sail cloth and rope. They will leave Normar at sun set. 

Precious few outsiders stay in Normar for long; there is nothing for them here. Job opportunities are few and far between. Most of us are sailors and fishermen, at sea all day from dawn to dusk, sometimes longer. The rest are traders, weavers, shipwrights, glass blowers. Our town is one built around the sea: there are no cobblers, for leather will only be ruined by the water; no silversmiths, for the metal will simply tarnish. Those who are born here though, often stay for a lifetime, for generations. Sons and daughters learning their trades as they watch their parents perform them. 

But Normar is no place for artists, for writers or scientists. Many townspeople would have hired my brother, for his deft hands or sharp eyes, but he didn’t want to spend his life here. It made sense; of course Normar is no place for an artist like him. His creativity is wasted here. So he’s on a boat, preparing to go somewhere new, to London, then maybe even Paris. He’ll probably never return.

The bell on the dock begins to clang adding to the cacophony of the streets. I turn sharply, towards the sound. It signals ten minutes to the next ship’s departure, my brother’s departure. I, like all the other people of Normar, know the sound by heart. I can tell you when it signals an arrival, a departure, or simply the time of day. Some things you learn by living. 

I stand at the edge of town center, on the brink of complete chaos. There are vendors who sell their products out of the bottom floors of their homes, pushing out farther into the street than they have a right to. Donkey carts positioned at opposing angles, making it difficult to get through. I dive in head first, side stepping children playing tag, ducking through conversations, and dodging the brooms and canes of men and women fending off the hordes of hungry seagulls. The air is filled with shouting, disgruntled neighbors and competing merchants. They are accompanied by a clatter of wood and metal. I step out of the chaos, not entirely unscathed, but in relatively good shape. I check my pockets quickly to make sure that his letter wasn’t stolen.

I hear someone shout my name and I wave a friendly hello, still walking quickly towards the seashore. I step onto a side street and a crash sounds from a few yards away. I quickly pivot towards the source and see a few of my father’s friends, Steve and Martin, I think their names are, struggling to keep a stack of barrels from toppling over.

“Maria!” one of them shouts. “A little help here?”

“Sure thing.”

Quickly, I rush over and take the barrel from him. It is heavier than I am expecting, and he and I both lower it to the ground while he balances another. As the men work, I steady the foundation, ensuring that none of us are crushed beneath the barrels. Judging from their weight, I guess they are full of lobster, so I work with caution. I definitely wouldn’t want to set these little sea devils loose. When we are finally finished, Martin and Steve wave a goodbye as I continue towards the dock. 

My earlier walk is now a run, racing the sun, even though I should have plenty of time. But when I reach the dock, I slow down and when I reach the post, where there is supposed to be a rope tied, mooring the ship to land, I come to a full stop. I see the boat already much too far from port, the sails out and full of wind, blowing him away from me.

 He said it would be easier like this. How can a single envelope be easier? With its messy white seal and chicken scratch writing. It’s not better. Two pieces of paper aren’t better. A letter telling me how much he cared about me, and I know it’s selfish but I can’t help but think that if he really cared he would have stayed. Sailors bustle around, continuing their work as I unfold the other leaf of paper. It’s a portrait of both of us, his arm over my shoulder. We look so close, and for a moment I forget how far apart we really are.


The Last Robbery

Prologue

In the small town of Memphis, Tennessee, where the crime rate was high, two robbers simultaneously spotted their next job. 

Paz was slim and worked behind the scenes. She sat on the dirty curb next to a busy street. Traffic screamed in her ears while she scanned a newspaper article. Her face lit up as she found the house waiting to be robbed. A grin spread across her face, and her eyes widened.

Dave was a tall and stocky man. He was very clumsy, which was not a favorable trait for a robber, but he still got away with it. He drank warm coffee from Starbucks in his apartment. He bit his lip when he set eyes on the article. His face dropped as he started the plan.

Lurking in the shadows, a greater evil held the newspaper with a gleam in his eyes.

***

Dave

I sit in my musty apartment, planning my next robbery (and figuring out how to pay rent this month). I know that my neighbors, the Henkins, will leave to go to Hawaii this afternoon. My stomach tingles and I twist my thumbs every time I steal from someone. I’ll spy on the house before I go in.

I go over and decide that they’re gone after a wait in the yellow and green shrubs that seem to trail on forever. I walk around the house, through the gate and into the backyard. My lock picking will take a while, and I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. I figure the other neighbors will be easily convinced that I’m taking care of the Henkins’ lizards. 

I slowly open the kitchen door in the back of the Henkin’s house. The guilt is already creeping around the house with me. I know it’s only a trick on the neighbors, but I do wind up checking on Dexter and Kiwi, the family’s lizards.

“Hi, Dexter! Hi, Kiwi! Do you miss your family? Oooh, yes, you do, yes you do- o,” I say in a baby voice to them.

Acting out Dexter’s rough, made-up voice, I say, “The telephones aren’t working!”

“Oh, Dexter, I might be able to fix those, right after I rob your house okay!” I respond in my normal voice. I chuckle and move away from the terrarium the lizards are kept in. 

I poke my head further into the kitchen, pushing back the thought that I have to do this quickly. A smile slowly spreads across my face every time I enter the Henkins’ house. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is clean and organized. There are two candles in copper candle holders sitting the same exact distance away from the clear vase in the center of the table. Purple, blue, pink, and yellow flowers spring up from the rim of the vase, growing off of the table, slithering on the ground, and wrapping around my feet like snakes. I blink and rub my eyes and the flowers turn back to normal. Turning around to the living room and leaving the flourishing flowers behind twists my smile into a slight frown, but I have the willpower to leave.

The Henkin’s living room holds a long, curved, brown couch. An oval blue rug lays on the oak floors beside a small glass coffee table.

As I explore the living room, I stumble into the office and gag as the bitter smell of the fresh cleaning supplies drifts up to my nose and races around my head, making my stomach churn. I lift my dark red shirt over my nose and mouth. I trip over a neat stack of books with torn covers of all colors as I walk towards the leather chair in the middle of the room. Sitting on the shining desk are forty-five, eight-inch tall rag dolls of the U.S. presidents. The first one in the row is George Washington; the last is Donald Trump. They all stare my way with their beady button eyes. As I think back to being here six months ago at the house party when they moved in across the street, more guilt swallows me like a wave, swarms me like wasps. Six months ago the books were not on the floor. The spot on the desk which Trump now fills was empty. The bigger white rug that was in the living room has now been replaced with the oval one.

The steps quietly creak as I tiptoe up the stairs and meet the biggest window in the house. The stars have been hidden in the black night outside. I’m so caught up in the exploration of the house that I don’t immediately recognize the sound of the door clicking open.

***

Dave ran into the nearest closet he could find, in the room of Emma Henkin, the smallest daughter in the Henkin family. The panic that had been following him flooded under the door of the closet, and soaked him with sweat. Was there an actual pet sitter or housekeeper there to check on the house? Would he be caught after everything that he had gone through? He had money once, when he was only six years old, but when his parents died, a storm of dust had ripped them and their fortune away from him. He needed this job. He couldn’t be arrested.

***

Earlier that day, Paz was at a sketchy restaurant, impatiently waiting for her small salad to be delivered to the window booth she inhabited almost every Wednesday and Saturday. Turning her head to face the window made her nose wrinkle and lips curl up. The window had been smashed in and there was a sheen of dirt coating the cracks.

“Excuse me ma’am, excuse me? Your order is here,” the waitress said in a sing-songy voice. 

Paz snatched the salad and turned away, rolling her eyes. She was not a sing-songy person. She looked down at the pathetic pile of greens and dressing. She rose up from the booth, her legs sticking to the vinyl material of the booth as she stood, lifting the plastic tray of the salad with her. She took slow, long, paces to the black trash can in the corner, which was sitting on the dusty floor. Her eyes scanned the contents of the bin, and her nose wrinkled again.

***

Paz

I push open the creaky blue rimmed door and an evil grin is plastered onto my face as I think about my plans for tonight. I creep around the neighborhood until I reach the house of today’s victims, and push through the gate and to the door.

I begin to take out my lock picking equipment and turn the door handle. It’s not locked. My eyes widen and my face becomes a little more pale. I think about whether I should rob the house or not. I’ve never been wrong before when it comes to telling if a house is rob-able or not. I decide to go in, preparing myself to face anyone inside. 

All of the lights are off, and the house was left clean. I straighten out and silently laugh at myself. I begin to forage through the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, bending down to reach compartments closer to the white tile on the floors. I have my mind set on finding the house’s pearl. I shift my attention to the living room, ducking as I pass the large windows. There are two bookshelves in the one corner of the room, and a rocking armchair in another. One bookshelf is shorter than the other, and I carefully shove books, big and small, away, as I search the smaller one on my knees. Not there. I stand on my tiptoes and start from the top of the lofty bookshelf. I finish searching the top shelf, the two shelves in the middle, then the bottom shelf. Not there. I fling the cushion off of the armchair, causing it to rock faster. 

I’m about to storm up the stairs, but I soon regain the knowledge that I have to be fast and quiet. Softly, landing my feet on the stairs ahead of them, I go up the stairs. One. Two. Three … Ten. Eleven. Twelve! I quickly duck down in front of the biggest chunk of glass I’ve ever seen in a house.

What a terrible place for something of such value! I think to myself as I feel around the wooden floors. I search the bathroom, the master bedroom. I look everywhere. The shower, nightstands, and dressers. Under the bed, over the bed, and in the closet. Nowhere to be found. The only rooms left in the house are the kids’ bedrooms. Guessing on what the doors of the bedrooms look like, the family has a young girl, and a teenage boy. One door is covered with messy doodles of princesses finding their princes. The other door has a printed out “Keep Out” sign, held on by a measly piece of tape in the top right corner. The cool draft of the AC had caused the sign to tilt, hanging off the door. I quietly cackle as I disregard the sign, entering the boy’s room.

The smell of dirty socks makes me dizzy as soon as I open the door. My stomach swirls, but I proceed on into the room anyways. After poking my head in the closet, reaching my hands into piles of sweaty clothes, and moving around dandruff covered pillows, I still haven’t found the famous item.

My last destination is the little girl’s room. My shoulder’s slump as I pointlessly push open the door. Why would an item of such value be hidden in a foolish, senseless little girl’s room? I think to myself.

I open the closet door and my face lights up as I stare in disbelief at the valuable treasure. I’m still in disbelief, but this time, as I shift my focus a few inches up at the hand grasping the small painting. 

As soon as I recover from the shock, I grasp the baton at my waist and manage to mumble a threat to him.

“This street is my turf,” I say, my voice shaking.

The man looks up at me, meeting my eyes with a confident glare. The traces of confidence in his eyes disappear as he backs up and stumbles over the angry bird figurines in the large closet. I stifle a laugh, wanting him to know that I take my job seriously.

“I’m sorry, are you robbing this house?” he asks.

I answer him with a yes and note the awkwardness of the situation, not knowing what to do next. Should I grab the painting and run?

He speaks again before I can take action, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should be proud of robbing houses.”

I’m about to say that I’m not, but I realize two things. One, I called the street “my turf.” Two, I am proud of being a quality robber.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I ask in a judgy tone.

“Well it’s just not very nice of you to rob houses.” he responds.

“Excuse me? You’re doing it too!”

“I take no pleasure in it.”

“Why? Being mean and mischievous is awesome!”

“At our age, it’s really not. We should be caring for our community. It’s a little irresponsible of you to think that being mean is a good thing.” I don’t get this guy. He takes the same thing I’m after and then tells me I’m being malicious. Sure it’s mean. Sure, being mean isn’t cool, but he stole it before I did! I love sneaking around, and all of those people who have regular lives are just pathetic.

Memories of the orphanage flash in my head as I see more doodles of the family in the girl’s room. Memories of the trouble I made. Memories of the people who came and left, taking a friend of mine every time. But never me.

This family has something that I never had in me. They love each other. They have lives that are worth saving, and I’m interfering with those lives.

***

At this moment, another force of evil lurks in the backyard. He wears dark jeans, and a hunter green colored cotton T-shirt. He paces the patio after realizing that the door was yet again, left unlocked. He silently creeps closer to the muffled voices up the stairs and turns the door handle without a sound. He is now thinking sinister thoughts while positioned behind Dave and Paz, who still do not know that he is in the house with them.

***

Dave

I begin to walk out of the closet, but the woman reaches out and stops me. I know she won’t leave until she gets the painting. I freeze up as I turn. My eyes widen and my jaw slightly drops. My face is pale. Beyond her is a taller man who stares directly down at me with a blank expression. He slowly reaches a gloved hand out, expecting me to hand over the painting. He wears a black glove on one hand and nothing on the other. A large hat shades out most of his face, but I can still see his eyes and mouth clearly enough to know that he is made up of pure evil. His eyebrows curve and he glares at me. His eyes hold no shine, like there’s nothing in there, but a black heart.

I tap the woman’s shoulder and point to the man, my mouth still hanging open. She surprises me, and glares right back at him, but his expression doesn’t change and he doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. 

The woman reaches for her baton as we reach a silent agreement. She takes a step towards the man and swings her baton towards him. He lifts the gloved hand, blocking it from touching his head. I leap forward in an attempt to tackle him, but again, his hand reaches up and pushes me onto the floor. The woman and I meet eyes. We nod, and spring forward, pouncing on the man and taking him down to the ground. The hard floors knock him unconscious and we use our socks and a few ropes from Emma’s closet to tie him up.

“By the way, I’m Paz,” the woman says.

“I’m Dave.”

We leave the house and carry the criminal to her car, opening the door and shoving him in. Paz gets in the driver’s seat and I get in the passenger seat, but the moment we turn around, he’s gone. We look around, but he’s nowhere to be found.

We pinky swear to never steal again.

***

5 years later…

Dave and Paz sit at the outdoor mesh table reading the news. A criminal named Randy Bluett had recently been caught. They exchange glances and grin, their eyes gleaming. Dave had taken the wallet of the criminal they had encountered on their last robbery five years ago. Some of the name had been scratched out, but he could read “Randy Bluett”. Dave drinks a latte and Paz drinks black coffee. Dave pays and Paz gets up and heads to work after saying goodbye to Dave. Paz now works as an author. Most of her stories are about robbers who have great adventures. Dave works as a fortune cookie writer. He gives great fortunes to bad people. It will get better . . . after you learn your lesson. Dave and Paz are the only people who know about their pasts. Besides the Henkins . . .


Anactoria’s Cry

I traced her name into the swirling brown dust,

and it came out loud, and free, and infinite — 

Sappho,

on a clay tablet, on a hard patch of earth… 

Till papyrus, colored stylus,

pulses bright

as the woman in the flower field.


Before, I did not know the name, 

I did not know of sleepless nights,

sacred fires, 

girls who dance on wet grass.


But she came to me, 

pudgy grapes in slender hands,

violet hair and olive skin… 


And she touched my lips,

with the taste of wine, and pomegranate,

and honey cake stuffed with fig.


I was not Sappho’s schoolgirl — 

men and schoolgirls are for figments


wine, pomegranate,

honey cake with fig;

when there were 

sacred fires, women who danced on wet grass

and we burned.


When Time comes by

to split the fig open and eat away the pulp,

spoil the wine,

smear the pomegranate,

and turn the honey thick with poison… 


Let me eat the rotted fruit, 

bury my heaving body in the swirling brown dust,

devour the last molding seeds — 

Till I become numb to the men that tarnish my name,

Numb to the girls who sneer as I struggle to breathe… 


Till I am with Sappho, Eros, dust

dust, dust, dust, dust… 

tracing the name… 

tracing the woman that saw me


Into the crumbling Lesbian soil.


The Willow Tree (Excerpt)

“Oh, what am I doing?” Azure whispered to herself.

Abruptly, the crowd of people that surrounded Azure gave a wide berth to a group of teenagers. From the way they spoke and the excruciating detail and craftsmanship of their clothing, they seemed to be from… the higher folk in the desert lands. The two girls in the group wore colorful silk tops that matched the bright colors that swathed the marketplace’s stalls. Barely a streak of muck or dirt showed on their tanned faces. They bickered loudly over a large diamond-encrusted necklace as the frenzied merchant tried to separate them.

Azure swallowed down the bitterness that rose in her throat. Here there were people fighting over the simplest issues, only worrying about how expensive the things they purchase are, when there were people dying from the Desert’s Wrath and fighting over life and death.

“Typical,” Azure exclaimed. “Fighting over a piece of jewelry while death and disease are elsewhere.”

She blew a strand of hair from her face, thinking sickeningly about her own family and their suffering from the Desert’s Wrath. She spotted a water stand near the bickering girls, and suddenly she felt how dry and parched her throat had been. Perhaps I have a few coins to spare to get water, Azure thought.

“Come on,” Azure urged. “We can spare getting a water supply before we head out.” 

Erix shifted uneasily in his place as Azure gave him an impatient glance over her shoulder. His eyes continued to squint at the group of kids in the center of the market. Azure swiftly made her way ahead of Erix, when the apparent leader of the teenager group, a tall boy with sleek, dark hair and a crooked nose, waved his two arms up in the air.

His face lit with recognition as he shouted, “Hey Erix!” His voice reverberated along the market shops. 

Erix stopped mid-step, a few feet behind Azure. His face fell, and he slowly began to back away. Azure’s eyes shifted from the boy and Erix nervously, creasing her brow. Immediately, the guy wrapped his arm around Erix’s shoulders like they were longtime friends. He tassled Erix’s already messy hair.

“I missed you, little guy!” he exclaimed, despite Erix being an inch taller than him. “Didn’t think you’d actually go on that silly dare we gave you!”

Azure knew Erix had tried to steal her ruby when they met, and stepping away from the two boys, she wondered if they were accomplices. She’d only met Erix last night when they’d both made the agreement to help each other find the willow tree. Azure was still wary of him.

Erix pulled away, but not before the guy snatched his map from his pocket. Erix angrily went to grab it back, but the guy held it high above his head, throwing it to his friend.

“You said something’s been stolen from you alright, Rowlen,” the boy said to the guy next to him. “This it?” 

The second guy shrugged. “Nope, but finders keepers, eh?” He went to put the precious desert map in his trouser pocket. 

Azure stepped up in front of Erix to face the leader of the group.

“It’s ours,” she said defiantly, craning her neck upwards to meet his eyes. “I’d like you to give it back.”

The boy laughed and raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, my lady.” He bowed sarcastically. “But it’s ours now. Besides, do you really trust this guy to take you to the willow tree? If it even exists, you’re going to die anyway, reaching it. I’m doing you a favor by sparing you the trouble of dealing with him.” 

Azure narrowed her eyes, her eyes still glued on the map that peeked tauntingly out of Rowlen’s pocket. She knew well enough that some people only searched for the tree to gain glory, and she was quickly running out of her time, and patience. 

“You think he — ” The boy pointed at Erix. “ — is true to his word? Ha! Well I’ll tell you what I know of Erix of Ragnarox.” The boy spat.

“Kwan, that’s enough,” Erix said dangerously. 

“Just leave him alone! I don’t care what you think of him,” Azure snapped back. She glanced nervously behind her shoulder. The exit from the marketplace was too far to steal back the map and get away from these people. Of course, she had to be dragged along into Erix’s problems. “Just give me the stupid map… now.”

“Actually for your information,” the boy replied, “Erix wouldn’t even have helped you or known anything about this map without my help. He didn’t even know about the legend itself! I’m the one who dared him to find that tree when we met back in Ragnarox and led him to the place where he could most likely find the map. All that’s left for him to do is to find it and cut it down. Then you’ll be accepted by us, right pal?” Kwan continued. 

Erix tensed his shoulders and his fists. “Shut up, Kwan!” he exclaimed stiffly. 

Kwan ignored him. He turned back to Azure. “Still don’t believe me, eh? Just see the look on his face then!” He and his friends laughed.

Azure stood still. She opened her mouth, yet no words came out. She didn’t know how to make her words come out. She gritted her teeth. She’d just run off with the map and leave. The bitter feeling in her mouth returned. Erix would cut down a tree that had the cure to the worst disease in the desert, something that has been surviving in the desert for so long, just to prove himself to these ignorant people.

With a cry of anger, Azure grabbed the map from Rowlen with such force that he fell over a cart of caged chickens, and ended up landing straight in a pile of donkey droppings. The group of kids suddenly stopped laughing as Rowlen glowered, his eyes on Azure. Azure’s instinct took over. She had one thing on her mind now.

Get out.

With that, Azure sprinted away, pushing the crowd despite people’s cries of annoyance. In her haste, she knocked down merchant stalls, sent baskets of market goods flying, while the group of teenagers took off in pursuit. Dust clouds flew in front of her face, blocking her view. Kwan was right on her tail, merely a few feet away. The edge of the marketplace was still out of reach. Azure had no idea where Erix was, nor did she care. She wanted to run, far away from everyone and everything, off into the middle of the desert where no one would lie to her for their own reasons. 

“Azure, watch out!” Erix was a bit ahead of her just near the barren, golden landscape of the desert. Azure’s ears perked as she turned, her face inches from the furious hooves of a horse, its rider frantically pulling on the reigns.

Aahh!” both Azure and the rider screamed.

Azure swung her head down and rolled out of the way, hitting the side of a crumbling building. Clutching her aching head, Kwan appeared over a pile of rubble. He loomed over her and reached his arm out, grabbing the other end of the map. 

“You’re not getting away, you lowly wretch! It’s time you learned your place in the world.”

People stopped by as they watched Kwan and Azure. Neither one of them was about ready to let go. Azure grabbed the edge of the paper till her knuckles went white. Her arms shook from the effort to hold on. The crowd murmured and whispered, chickens clucked while the donkeys brayed loudly, Erix shouting out for Azure. The image of the willow tree on the map blinked up at Azure in the sunlight. The beautiful willow tree that Azure yearned to find. The one that would bring her back to her former life. 

Azure’s head was about ready to burst as tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. From the distance she could see the silhouettes of the others making their way through the market. Freedom was too close to let go, when Azure was nearly at the desert. Sweat slipped down the sides of her face as she bared her teeth. The crumbling building next to her continued to crack faster and faster, breaking apart the dried, dull yellow stone. Rocks and stones began to fall as the building’s bottom began to deteriorate.

Everything happened too fast.

In a shout of frustration, Azure tugged with all her might, pushing Kwan backwards onto the dirty road, freeing the map from his clutches. Her hand hit the building, and like a rippling effect it continued to crack apart at a mad pace until it reached everywhere, up to the top of it and beneath Azure and Kwan’s feet. Azure’s mind was racing. She didn’t know what she was doing, yet her mind had no control over her movements. Her hands swung upward and to the side. The right side of the building finally collapsed.

A huge dirt cloud blasted in Azure’s face. Azure coughed in the flecks of debris that now swarmed the air, engulfing her lungs and throat.

People cried out in shock, and Azure could barely hear the faint warbling sound of Kwan and his groups voices.

“She’s cursed!” came their cry, along with the scared agreements of the crowd.

Azure had heard enough, and this time she had no retaliation to say back. Words had completely left her. Azure’s clothing was ridden with dust and dirt. Her hair was a wretched mess, just like Kwan had said. Breaths came in quick, constricted gasps. The map was still clutched in Azure’s fist, yet the view of the market was fully blocked with all of the fallen debris and wreckage. All that was left to see was the glittering sand and the one lone stray fox in the distance. The sun glared down on Azure as she kneeled down, resting her head heavily against a rock face.

What have I done? she thought to herself, scared of looking at her own hands. She shot a quick, narrowed glance at Erix, whose face had gone pale. He didn’t back away or run from her however.

“W-w-what did you — ” he shakily began.

“I don’t know what I did, okay?!” Azure shouted, louder than she expected. “I don’t know! But this is all your fault! Of course, you care more about being ‘accepted’ by people that will never really be your friends, don’t you? You’re just like everyone else. Just as bland and just as selfish and self-involved.” 

Erix didn’t say anything. He looked at his torn shoes.

“Of course you don’t have anything to say, huh?!” Azure exclaimed. She thought he would have at least said something, anything, even the most stupid excuse to his actions would have worked. “Aargh, I hate you! I hate everything. I hate your stupid ‘friends.’ I hate myself!” Azure punched the eroded rock, clutching her hand in pain. She couldn’t bear to look at Erix anymore. “Good luck getting accepted,” she said quietly, turning her back to Erix. 

With that, Azure ran. She didn’t care how far she went or where she was going at the moment, but she needed to leave. She ran and ran, her feet flying before her eyes, the entire landscape a blur to her. Only when the sun began to slowly descend into the crimson sky did Azure stop. Splat. Azure looked down. A single tear hit the grainy desert sand, before absorbing into nothingness. 

Hurriedly, Azure wiped her tears with the back of her hand, streaking dust and mud across her left cheek. She looked around. No sign of life was in sight. Azure had gone right back to stage one in her quest for the willow tree, alone and helpless as daylight fell through her grasp once again. Not even the map could comfort her now.

Azure slumped her way over to an array of rocks that bordered a series of towering sand dunes, their sloping hills shining deep orange in the fading sunlight. A skull rested at the base of one of them, slowly crumbling to dust. Wait a second, Azure thought to herself. With a shaking hand, she lifted up the map. Skull Man’s Dunes was drawn onto it, shielding the place of the willow tree that barely anyone dared to pass. Four sloping dunes were drawn in shining ink, identical to the ones that stood menacingly before Azure.

Azure’s knees sagged, and she clutched her chest, her heart rapidly beating, sinking lower into the ground.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no!” she cried out to no one. “I have to get out of here,” Azure squeaked. She tried keeping her composure, but her movements were clumsy and she struggled to stand. She had to keep going. The donkey. Azure tugged at her hair in anger. “Stupid Azure!” Azure exclaimed. “How could you forget about what you needed most to reach the tree?!” Azure imagined Erix, happily riding on that donkey, making his way across Skull Man’s Dunes without a care in the world, free and safe from any possible harm. 

“Arghhhh!” Azure shouted, her voice breaking.

She began to run, hoping she hadn’t been in that treacherous area for too long. Abruptly, the ground shook, and Azure’s legs buckled. She fell face flat in the sand. Turning her head around, Azure’s eyes bulged, her mouth agape, unable to make a sound or a movement. 

The dunes had been awakened.

A vast cloud of golden sand and speckles of dust rumbled in Azure’s direction. It burst through the desert, devouring everything in its path greedily. The wind shrieked and howled in Azure’s ears as she covered her hands over her head. Spumes of dust and dirt rose above Azure, coating her in a thick layer of sand and grime.

Azure could barely see through the haze of dull yellow grains of sand that flecked at her stinging eyes and skin and lips. She shouted out desperately for help, yet the moment her mouth moved it was engulfed in dust. Azure, closing her eyes shut, crawled along the ground, grappling her way through the monstrous domes of sand that blotted out any source of light. The wind grew louder, crying in agony as Azure shouted along with it. Her hand managed to find the rough edge of an object, and she squeezed her fist around it like a lifeline. 

It crumbled to dust in Azure’s hands, relenting to the storm. “Stupid power!” Azure managed, clutching her aching hand, wiping her mouth from all of the grainy sand that dotted it. It did nothing as the storm raged on, enveloping Azure’s nostrils and her mouth once again, not letting down.

Dust and bits of rock caked Azure’s face and clothes. She lay there, crouched on the floor, coughing out dirt. Her hands were cut up raw from the million bits of sand that flew past her skin. Another wave of sand flew into Azure, and upon the impact, Azure was sent flying across the desert, scabbing her knees on the rough desert plains, not knowing where she was or what day it was. Her throat begged for water, yet all it got was more dirt and speckles of rock. 

After shouting for help repeatedly, Azure stopped her struggling. “Help,” she said hoarsely, before letting go to the storm.

Clutching her torn and rugged satchel that was miraculously still there, Azure prayed that it would end. She didn’t care about the willow tree anymore. It was hopeless. She had no one left by now. She was no one. Her family was sick, and she had trusted the wrong people. She failed. 

Azure thought for a moment she heard her name beyond the howling sound of the ghastly wind. Images of her family, her parents, and her siblings flew through Azure’s mind. The smell of fresh warm baked bread her mother would always make every Saturday morning, her father’s low, rumbling voice that would resonate through the house when he was in an elated mood, as well as her little twin brothers’ shrieks of laughter as they’d play outside, sending dust clouds in the air as they chased after one another. 

“I’m sorry,” Azure finally spoke, her eyes shut tight, her ears ringing from the sound of the wind. 

Azure breathed heavily, every bone in her body smarting and aching. She begged repeatedly for everything to be over, for everything around her to just end. Azure’s voice grew so loud in her head as she screamed for everything to stop that she couldn’t hear the overbearing sound of someone calling out. 

Azure’s eyes barely opened, and as she squinted through the golden haze, she could make out a frail silhouette. Her hands left her ears and the ringing subsided, followed by a clear sharp voice. “Azure!

Weakly, Azure looked up. An arm reached out, and without knowing who or what that thing had been, with her last ounce of strength, Azure reached out her own hand. She got hoisted up onto what seemed to be a stout gray animal that clomped hurriedly across the dunes. An animal that looked just like a donkey. The person finally turned, only his eyes visible, warm dark eyes that were filled with concern. Erix, Azure thought. As they made it to where the dust and sand had lessened, Azure could finally take a full breath. She nearly sobbed with relief. The one person who’d originally wanted to cut the tree was here. 

The sand still loomed above them, and not saying a word, the two bolted off to the nearest border of rocks, where a small opening revealed a stone cave. Just as the wind pushed the sand furiously closer, they leaped through the opening. 

“Come on, we have to close the opening!” Erix finally said, struggling to push a giant boulder at the back of the cave.

Azure rubbed her sore arms, barely able to push or move anything. She looked down at her hands. The scene at the marketplace flashed before her eyes, Kwan and his group chasing her, and the cracks in the old building, spreading out like a ripple. Maybe I don’t only have to cause things to crumble. With a shaky breath, Azure thrust out her hand willing herself to move the boulder. Come on, please! I don’t have any idea how my hands have been doing any of this, but you need to move now! 

Closing her eyes, Azure felt a gush of air and a final crash. She snapped them open, praying she hadn’t accidentally crushed Erix with a boulder or something. The giant rock now lay on its side at the entrance to the cave, and the world was drenched in darkness except for a tiny sliver of sunlight from the ceiling of the cave.

Azure panted heavily, then broke into nervous laughter that instantly grew louder. She must have looked delirious. “Ha! I did it! I moved a boulder, Erix! A boulder!! With my bare hands!” Azure turned, Erix still staring straight at the blocked entryway.

“Uh huh… ” he said weakly. “So this is… normal now?” He turned to Azure, his hair and clothes caked with a layer of sand, he grasped the leash of the old donkey as though it was his lifeline.

Azure looked down, finally calming down. “I honestly don’t know, Erix, ever since being in that marketplace… I just felt so furious at that moment, trying to get hold of the map, I could barely even think straight! And the next moment I destroyed that building. Imagine if there had been people in there!” She slid down against the cool cave wall.

Erix crouched down beside her. “But there wasn’t. That building was ancient after all. It would have eventually been taken down.” 

“You saved me after our, well, you know… argument. Why?” Azure spoke again after a still silence, trying to change the subject.

Erix fiddled with his fingers. “W-well, you did stand up for me back there in the market. No one’s done that for me before.”

“That kid was being a brat anyways,” Azure said finally.

Erix chuckled. Erix might have been selfish at hiding his motivations, but after seeing him save her, perhaps, he could be trusted.

“Look, whatever Kwan said you did… about being dared to take the map and cut down the tree and all that was wrong, and unjust of you… ” Azure took a deep breath before continuing. “But Skull Man’s Dunes, it isn’t a one man journey. To be honest, I never imagined I’d ever say this yet… I need your help, Erix. We both need each other’s help if we hope to make it out of here successfully… and alive as well. Perhaps the reason I even have this new ability is to somehow help us reach the willow tree.” 

Azure finally turned to Erix, and she caught a flicker of determination in his eyes. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He flashed a mischievous grin. “You think you can find a way to move that rock again?” 

Azure nodded, stiffening her shoulders. “I-I think so.” 

Together, Azure and Erix reached the large boulder that blocked the cave entryway. The sound of the howling wind had diminished to a faint whisper as the storm began to drift away gradually. Here goes nothing, Azure thought to herself. Steadying her shaky breaths, Azure pressed her palm against the rockface. Instantly, it grew warmer by the second, and the warmth spread all the way up Azure’s arm. Still concentrating, she used all her will to cause the rock to move. Slowly, Azure’s tense arm relaxed as the warmth from the rock filled her. The surface of the rock left her fingers, and when she opened her eyes, the rock had been pushed away, revealing the fading orange light of day. 

Erix, giving the boulder one final push, clapped his hands happily, still heavily ridden with dust. Wiping sweat from his brow he glanced at Azure.

“I suppose I could get used to this.” Azure rolled her eyes as they stumbled their way onto the donkeys back once again.

They were still in dangerous territory. The thought of the violent storm was still clear in Azure’s mind. The map had still miraculously survived, and it lay clutched in Azure’s fist. They’d been in Skull Man’s dunes for a while.

“We have to be getting closer,” Azure began, furrowing her eyebrows as she studied the map.

“Let’s hope we find it before we can’t see anything at all.” Erix, grabbing a hold of the reigns on the donkey’s saddle, nodded towards the tiny faint sliver of light in the corner of the sky. The sun was setting fast, and already stars began to pop up in the sky. “You know,” Erix continued, “we never got to name him.”

“Who exactly?” Azure began slowly, confused.

“The donkey, obviously. Got any ideas for names? How about… ” Erix scratched his head as though in deep thought. “Erix Jr. maybe?”

Azure crossed her arms, giving him an incredulous look. “The fate of an entire village is at stake, and you are worrying about naming our donkey at the moment?” Erix merely smiled in reply. “Well, looks like it shouldn’t be at stake anymore.” They suddenly stopped, and Azure’s eyes grew wide, a grin breaking across her face.

The willow tree towered above them, wide burly branches reaching to far ends, with broad leaves in deep golds and greens. Its roots extended deep below the sand beneath it, and although its bark was chipped and cracked, it was alive, surviving even in the most harsh circumstances. The shriek of a hawk pierced Azure’s ears, and a chip of the tree’s bark fell before Azure. Upon closer inspection, it looked blackened and… dead almost.

With a sick feeling rising in her mouth, Azure immediately hopped off of the donkey, rushing to the tree, Erix right in her wake. As she got closer, Azure realized how weakly the leaves flittered in the wind, how the branches groaned under the weight they had to hold, and how the mahogany-colored bark was fading into a deathly black color.

Erix stood next to Azure, his eyes twice their normal size as he looked about the tree in utter shock. “I-is is it… dead?” he spoke faintly.

Azure gently reached out her hand to the tree. She pressed her forehead against it. No. She repeated to herself over and over. I couldn’t have come all this way for nothing. No! Tears began pricking Azure’s eyes and slowly began to streak down her cheeks, yet she didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore. “No! It can’t be! It’s not dead!” Azure hit her fist against the ground, not gaining the strength to use any of her powers. Azure released her hand from its fist, staring at the center of it, wishing somehow a miracle would occur and her hand would be able to heal the tree. 

A small, papery object flew into Azure’s open hand, a green leaf. Azure looked up at the tree, her heart thundering in her chest.

“It’s alive,” she cried. “It has to be. Its leaves are still not blackened!” Azure stood up abruptly, her mind whirring. “It’s not dead yet. It’s just been… ”

“Poisoned?” a gravelly voice spoke from a few feet away.

Azure’s head snapped to the side, clutching her leather bag tightly.

“No need to be afraid… ” the voice continued smoothly. “I’ve been expecting someone to arrive quite soon.” A figure emerged from around the tree. He was lean and tall with a narrow tan face and crooked nose, his dark eyes glinting mysteriously. His lips curled into a thin, sly smile. “Hexron’s the name,” he said calmly, as though he was in any normal conversation. “So the Desert’s Wrath. I heard it’s been spreading quickly, hasn’t it? It’s a pity how ignorant people can be when it comes to finding clear solutions to their problems. By then I’d already poisoned this pitiful tree. It’s already gotten terribly old, hasn’t it? It’s grown old and tired from the disease and terrible actions of humans it has had to fix.” Hexron chuckled slightly at himself, as Erix and Azure’s mouths hung open in shock.


The Sapphic’s Jumble, A Grammerless “Unpoem”

The words are sweet and watery you gorge 

yourself on them. Euphoria is instant inside this 

inner monologue when we are poetry and

poetry is addictive. We call this The Sapphic’s Jumble.


A Woman rises in the distance. I lived that

the words are poetry and 

poetry is addictive. The woman is addictive poetry. The

woman is very undecided, very loose and very 

beautiful, lying on your bed in silence. Sometimes 

you loved her as you loved addictive

poetry. 


The Woman was lying in your arms and her

breathing sped up and her eyes were blooming

pale tempests. You think you loved her, maybe you

didn’t love her. All this because of a closeted girl, 

silly thing. Steady your breathing and learn to 

think again. Push aside the clawing and screaming memories 

making up the throbbing Jumble.


Addictive poetry in the mad world. 

Chained to an internal monologue 

that smells like violets. 


This is what disorder is. She loved you, and she

loved you not in A Sapphic Jumble. The state is 

a disorder, it causes disorder. Disorder is chaos;

we are chaos. 

The Sapphic chaos.


Here is where you fight to? delineate the Lines;


Delineate the Addictive Poetry


Delineate The Sapphic’s Jumble


She loved you and maybe she never

loved you but either way. 

Punctuation is for fools. 

Punctuation is for Women of Logic.

You exist beyond Logic.


The existence of Your Lover

The existence of Your Presence

causes (a beautiful chaos)


Take it or leave it 

in The Sapphic’s Jumble. 

You can-a-can’t-can’t think,

till


We lie in Insanity


As we lie in Beauty


Pay No Mind – VII

          

VII.

I stare at a mere reflection,

a girl whose eyes, drained, are watering still after hours nonstop

For she had cried all night, and there’s no stop in sight

She had screamed and hissed 

And the birds chirped a lovely, sad song

The wind whistled, but she paid no mind

As she lay on the bathroom floor

Fixated on the weeps of crows

And the wails of wilting roses

She the wilting rose, the weeping crow, cannot point where things went wrong

The birds and flowers fought relentlessly over sentences described in paragraphs

IX.

Yesterday, the tree whistled at the glowing moon

And glass smiles stood until we fell fast asleep, today

The trees melt away

As we say goodbye to dreams, today

They’ve said I’ve changed

But I feel the same, this world has done the changing for me, today

Today was as long as the last and my pains are tired of growing.

I must stop, but the ride’s not over yet, no not today

She puts in another quarter

But I can’t take another today

I miss you — 


when i ran out of thyme

when i ran out of thyme

they should have buried me in lavender

lavender — great swooping fields of it

Girlhood joins me with a simple dress and starry-eyes

she lays down

in the dust

in the dirt

in lavender — great swooping fields of it

we pass the time eating honeysuckle

and resting our rosehips

in the dust

in the dirt

staining our dresses

not our heartbeats

such buttercup crowns,

such strands of mallow in our hair

hanging on our lips —

what broom and borage we played in

till we lost our protea and primrose

and lavender — great swooping fields of it

to sultry red fruit

and roses neath thistle and thorn


The Dream Sixteen

Today is the day of my 16th birthday party. It all started out as a normal day. I was just taking my birthday party outfit out of my closet. I’ve been waiting for this party since forever. All my friends will be there. I just can’t wait.

This party will probably be the best party I’ve ever had. My guests are just starting to walk in. “Hey, Aspen,” my friend Jordyn says. “Are you excited for your party?”

“Yep,” I say. We decide to hang out at the snack table for a few minutes.

“So who did you invite,” Jordyn says.

“I invited you, Taylor, Peyton, Ashley, Amari, Jackson, Jamie, Lila, and a lot of other people.”

“Sounds like you have a big guest list. Are you sure that you’ll have enough food? Did you invite a lot of the boys?”

“Yeah. My mom said that the caterer is bringing more than enough food. So I can only hope that they don’t eat it all.”

“Did you invite anyone else?” Jordyn asks.

“Yeah. I invited Adonis, Marcus, Lexi — ”

“Wait, you invited Lexi?”

“Yeah,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You know that if you invite Lexi that Tori will come. And you know how Tori is,” Jordyn says.

“Just because her twin sister is mean doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t be invited to parties too. I genuinely like Lexi. And you have to admit she is really cool.”

“Yeah, she is really nice. I feel so bad for her though. She’s stick with a twin sister that’s so mean. I wonder if she’s really mean to her.”

“I know,” I say.

I know that if I had a twin sister that I would want her to be nice to everyone, including me. I honestly feel so sorry for her. At that moment, a large group of my friends arrive. My older sister, Ashanti, just brought them into the party room. The theme of my party is lights out. It’s a major dance party with neon lights. Everyone gets a glow bracelet or glow necklace when they walk in.

My mom, Aunt Chantelle, and Ashanti helped me come up with the theme of my party. Ashanti and Aunt Chantelle helped me plan where my party would be. We rented out a country club ballroom and decorated it to look like a dance club. There are flashing strobe lights everywhere, and there is also a disco ball. The lights are bouncing off the walls. Music is going. You can actually feel the beat of the music.There are white, shiny marble floors. The lights are reflecting off the floor. Different color balloons and confetti are all over the floor. There’s a long white table on the right side of the room with different finger foods on them. There are little sandwiches, cakes, fruits, and punch on the table. In the left corner of the room, the DJ is getting ready to play music. It’s kind of awkward right now because nobody is here yet. But once the party gets started, it will be a whole lot of fun. People won’t be able to help dancing and having fun.

“Hey, Aspen,” they all say.

“Hey, guys,” I say.

Ashanti shows them the table where they can put my gifts. I can’t believe this is finally happening. A few minutes later, more of my friends come in. A little while after that, more of my friends come in. After about 20 minutes, everyone is there. The party was just about to start when all of a sudden Tori and her friends, Marcy and Samara, walk in. Right behind her are Lexi and Denise. Everyone stops to look at Tori and her friends. There is complete silence, and I feel completely awkward. Now I’m starting to understand what Jordyn said.

“Happy birthday, Aspen. Great party,” Tori says with a smirk. Marcy and Samara start laughing maliciously.

I’m really starting to regret inviting Lexi. But at the same time, it’s not Lexi’s fault that her sister is extremely mean. Hopefully Tori doesn’t try to make a scene and humiliate me at my own party. That would be awful. But then again, I invited some of the boys. I know she definitely wouldn’t want to embarrass herself in front of them. She already knows what a laughingstock she would be if she did that. She should know because she’s already embarrassed plenty of people before.

“Thanks, Tori,” I say. “The party will start shortly.”

Suddenly, the music starts. People start coming out onto the dance floor. The lights come up. The disco ball starts to spin and reflect its lights. Everyone has glow sticks. Music is playing. Everyone is dancing, but I just can’t make myself join in. I wander off into the hallway to go to the bathroom. Just as I get ready to open the door, my sister Ashanti comes out of the bathroom.

“Is everything okay? You look a little worried.”

“I guess I’m okay.”

“Isn’t that Tori?” she says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“What is she doing here. The last thing we need is someone to ruin your sweet 16. It’s the most memorable party of your life so far. Do I need to go and say something to her?”

“No,” I say. “The last thing I need is for someone to upset her. That would just give her more reason to try to humiliate me. You understand right?”

“Yeah. I get it. You remember Andrea, right?”

“Yeah.”

“She was like a Lexi to me when I was 16. She always tried to do whatever she could to humiliate someone.”

“Your point being?”

“Don’t let one person ruin your party. Look around. All these people came here to celebrate you. They all came because they care about you. They’re not concerned about Lexi and what she could do to them.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Anyway, these people came to celebrate you. Now go have fun at your party. I’ll peek around now and then to make sure that everything is okay. If Tori tries to even start to make a scene, I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry about anything.”

“Thanks,” I say. We give each other a hug. I go into the bathroom to check my reflection one last time. Then I decide that it’s time for me to go back to the party.

The party is going great. The music is loud. A rap song has just ended, and a dance song has come on. I’m able to feel the beat of this song. Everybody is dancing. Everyone is having fun. I decide to start dancing. I start to lose my worries in the song. Suddenly, I notice that the party is actually going great. Maybe it’s just me being paranoid. I mean, a party is supposed to be calm, right? But something doesn’t feel right to me. I see Jordyn standing by the food table getting some punch. I pull her aside. We leave the party and go into the hallway.

“Jordyn, have you seen Tori?” I ask.

“No, not recently. The last place I saw her was over by the food table. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that the party seems normal.”

“What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that what a party is supposed to be?”

“Yeah, it is. But it’s still weird that Tori is here. You don’t think she’s going to try to ruin something, do you?”

“I sure hope not. I’m pretty sure that you got some really cool presents. My present is so pretty that you’ll never want to leave it alone.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“Nope. That would ruin the surprise. I want your breath to be taken away when you open my present.”

This sounds so much like Jordyn. She’s such a caring, sweet, and kind person. But you don’t want to get on her bad side. It’s really scary. But all in all, Jordyn is one of the kindest people I have ever met.

“Okay. I guess I can wait.”

“Now come on. Quit worrying, and have fun at your party.”

“Okay.”

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my party is going great. I’m enjoying myself and so is everyone else. But I still have this sneaking suspicion that Tori will do something. I decide to push this thought to the back of my mind. This is my party, and I’m going to celebrate.

I walk over to the food table. Everything looks fine. Nothing seems suspicious. My presents seem to be safe. Suddenly, I hear a rustling noise over by the DJ. Then I hear something drop right near the table where my presents are. I wonder what’s going on. I hope Tori isn’t trying to ruin anything. I have a really bad feeling about this. I decide to go over to the DJ.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen anybody come over this way recently?” I ask.

“Nope. I haven’t. Sorry.”

“Thanks anyway,” I say.

Well, the DJ seems to have not seen anything or anyone come over there. So I wonder what that noise could have been. Now the worst thoughts are starting to come to mind. What if an animal wandered into my party and is going through my presents? What if one of Tori’s friends is going through my presents? What if Tori paid someone to go through my presents and ruin my party? Or worst of all, what if Tori herself is going to do something so mean that it’ll cause me to start crying at my own party?

“Come on, Aspen,” I say to myself. “You need to get yourself together and stop assuming that the worst is always going to happen.”

Eventually, I talk myself into walking over to where the rustling noise came from. As I grow closer to the table where my presents are, the noise grows louder. The noise keeps growing louder and louder and louder. I can’t take this suspense anymore. I decide to finally see what’s making this noise.

As I walk around the table where my presents are, I find Tori going through my presents. I stand behind the table frozen with fear. I’m brought to tears. I can’t help not crying. There’s presents everywhere. There’s pink, purple, red, and a lot of other colors of tissue paper all over the floor. Some gift bags are strewn all over the floor.

“This present is okay. Uh, what is this present? Who would ever want this as a present? This is so lame. People can really do better with presents these days,” Tori says. Marcy and Samara are with her.

“Why would anybody want this as a present? It’s so dorky,” Marcy says. She’s waving a gift bag in the air.

“Honestly, I don’t know. But then again, these presents are for Aspen. Why wouldn’t you expect them to be lame. She’s really, really lame.”

“I know. But still, anybody could give her a better present. I kind of feel bad for her,” Marcy says.

“Why should you? Obviously, a lame person deserves lame gifts. Aspen is a completely lame person.”

“I still can’t believe that you were friends with her when you were younger,” Samara says.

“Really, I don’t even know either. I guess we all made mistakes when we were younger,” Tori says.

“You certainly did, Tori. I really can’t understand why you were ever even friends with her either,” Marcy says.

I can’t take this anymore. I shouldn’t have to listen to this anymore. I decide to come out from behind the table.

“I can’t believe you, Tori. How could you do this to me?” I say in disbelief.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Crybaby. What’s wrong? Did someone steal your blanket?” Tori says sarcastically.

Now everyone has turned to stare at the table where my presents are. The music has been turned down some. Everyone starts laughing at what Tori just said.

“For your information, I’m not a crybaby, and I don’t have a blanket. What are you doing over here in my presents anyway?” I say with an attitude. My hands are on my hips.

“I just came to check and make sure that your presents were okay. I wouldn’t want you to receive any horrible presents. But lucky for you, they’re all horrible presents.”

“That’s exactly why they aren’t yours. Now how about you do yourself a favor and get away from my presents,” I say.

“I don’t think so. You can’t tell me what to do. Marcy, what do you think about this present? Isn’t it so stupid?” Tori asks sarcastically as she looks into a gift bag.

“It’s so stupid. Why would anyone want to own such a stupid gift? Would you want to own it, Samara?” Marcy asked.

“Leave me out of this,” Samara says.

“Why? What’s wrong? Do you think it’s good enough for you? Marcy says sarcastically.

Everyone starts laughing. The boys are making “ooohhh” noises.

“No,” Samara says.

“Then what’s your problem?” Marcy says.

“My problem is you. You and Tori are always picking on innocent people that have done absolutely nothing to you. I’m tired of being around people like you who always put people down.”

“So let me get this straight. You’re trying to stand up for Aspen, Samara?” Tori says.

“Yes, I am. I’m so sick and tired of being around cruel people like you and Marcy. Aspen has always been nothing but nice to you, and yet you still treat her horribly,” Samara says with boldness.

There’s a long period of silence in the party room. Even the music stops. Everyone is staring over at where Tori, Marcy, Samara, and I are.

“Well, you know what, Samara? I can’t be friends with people like you. People who think its okay to be friends with losers.”

I’m tired of hearing all of this. It’s getting on my last nerve. I can’t take it anymore.

“Guess what, Tori,” I say. “I’m not a loser, and you can stop talking about me.”

“And she’s right,” Jordyn says. “We all know that the whole reason why you even came to this party was to ruin Aspen’s great party. Well, guess what, you failed to accomplish your goal.”

“I don’t understand why you would do such a thing, Tori,” Lexi says. “It’s Aspen’s party, and this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Why don’t you just leave?!”

“Because I don’t want to,” Tori snaps. “Look, Samara. Here’s the thing. If you want to be friends with us, then you have to not be friends with Aspen, and if you want to be her friend, then we won’t be your friends.”

Everyone is staring intently at Samara. For some reason, the DJ is playing action music.

“So what’s your choice, Samara?”

“I choose Aspen. I don’t want to be remembered as the mean girl like you and Marcy.”

“Very well then. You made your choice. I hope it was worth it to lose your only friends that you have,” Tori says sarcastically.

“Why are you doing this?” Marcy asked sincerely.

“Because I’m ready to move on and be around actually nice people,” Samara says.

“Whatever, Samara. Come on, Marcy, let’s leave this lame party. We’ve got better places to be,” Tori says.

“Tori, Marcy, do you need an escort out?” Ashanti says.

“No thanks. I’m good,” Tori says.

“No thanks,” Marcy says.

They both storm out of the party.

Finally, they’re gone. The music has been turned back up. Everyone has resumed dancing and having a good time. The strobe lights have come back on. Samara is still here all by herself.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Not really. It feels kind of weird to not be around Marcy and Tori,” Samara says.

“Its okay. It must’ve felt really weird to actually stand up to Tori for once.”

“Yeah, I know. But it eventually had to be done.”

“That was really brave,” I say.

“Thanks.”

“Look, I know that we’ve started off on the wrong foot, but I’m willing to start over and be friends if that’s okay with you,” I say.

“Sure. I mean, I haven’t been exactly nice to you either.”

“So friends?”

“Friends,” Samara says.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ashanti says.

“For what?”

“Standing up to Tori. You really are growing up.”

“Thanks.”

If there’s one thing that I’ve learned after tonight, it’s that people may actually come to surprise you in the end.


The Food Chain

    

 

As I stepped out of my house that day, I saw my neighbor George putting a leash on his pet human. They did this every day, walking down to Little Piggy’s human-burger shop to grab a bite to eat, which disgusted me. It is horrible how animals treat humans like nothing and are treated as lower than low to the rest of society. I wish I could do something to stop this madness.

But who am I to say anything? I am a lonely sheep, too low on the government-enforced food chain to make an impact. What am I saying? You can’t understand me anyway.

“Well, Sparky,” I said to my own pet human. “I have to go out. I will not be long.”

I walked down the street past Little Piggy’s shop, past Jim Jam’s gas station and took a left, toward the city. I was about to walk into my office building until I heard a scream coming from a nearby alleyway.

I rushed towards it and saw two boars kicking around a human who had a couple of bruises and a cut above his shoulder.

I yelled at the attackers, “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

The first boar turned and spat, “What are you gonna do about it? You’re lower than us on the food chain.”

The second one punched the human once more and turned, saying, “Why don’t you go back home, human lover?”

I pleaded with them, “Stop, you’re hurting him. Please, stop!”

The boars kept on kicking the human.

I ran at one, knocking him to the ground and bruising my shoulder in the process. The second one grunted and grabbed me, lifting me off the ground and shouting, “You fucking farm animal! I will gut you like a baby human!”

Then, the first one pulled out a switchblade and flipped the shiny piece of metal out, pointing it at me. By now, my shoulder was already swollen, and I began to pray for some sort of protection.

As if on cue, there was a sound of a K9 police siren coming our way, getting louder and louder. The two boars dropped me and ran out of the alley. The two dogs slammed the brakes on their car, getting out and racing after them, leaving me alone, which I thought was typical.
I grabbed my shoulder in relief and stood up, walking over to the human.

“Hi, my name is Leonard. What’s yours?” I said in a soft voice.

The human shook his head. Could… could he understand me?

“You know what I’m saying?”

The human nodded.

“Do you have a home?”

The human shook his head. I made the best decision I could.

“Okay well, I guess you can come live with me. I have another human at home. His name is Sparky. I could name you Spot. That’s where I found you.”

The human shook his head violently.

“What about Spot?”

The human nodded and jumped about.

After a few hours at the vet, Spot was vaccinated, and we walked home. As soon as I opened the door, Spot ran in and jumped on Sparky. At first, Sparky was shy and afraid, but after three weeks or so, they started to form an inseparable friendship. Wherever Sparky went, Spot followed, and wherever Spot went, so did Sparky.

One night I had to go out because it was my mother’s birthday, so I asked George if he would look after them. I figured nothing could go wrong. Little did I know, that was the night that everything would change.

George sat down on the couch with an apple and turned on the TV to watch The Bachelorette, where one Foxy Fox would be able to choose from ten other foxes who would get to take her hand in marriage. He was watching so intently that he forgot to feed Sparky and Spot and was neglecting them. My humans tried to get George’s attention by squealing and jumping on him. George started to get mad and backhanded Sparky in the face. Sparky got mad and started making hand motions to Spot. Spot made hand motions back in response.

George was shocked and said, “Wait, what are you doing? What are you saying to each other?”

Just then, the humans jumped on him, knocking George to the ground. Spot ran and grabbed sheets in his mouth while Sparky kept jumping on George. When they came back together, they tied George up.

That was when it got way, way worse.

Spot and Sparky peed on George, covering him completely. When I got back home, George was screaming slurs and insults, tied up in bedsheets, and soaked in yellow liquid.

“What happened here?” I asked, not believing my eyes.

“Just help me, Leonard!” George screamed.

I untied the tangle of knots and tried to calm George down.

“Okay George, I want you to take a deep breath and explain to me this. Why are pawprints across Sparky’s face?”

“It was those fucking humans! They communicated with each other!”

I tried to stay calm, thinking about my two humans possibly talking with each other. What would they have said? Did they… plan this?

“George, that’s crazy. I think you need to go home and get some rest.”

He growled in response. “I know what I saw.”

“Just go home, George. You did this to yourself.”

He picked himself up and left in a huff.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I made hand motions towards Spot and Sparky and started to shout at them, forgetting that I didn’t need to use my voice when using the sign language we had developed.

“What the hell were you guys thinking? I’ve told you no communicating around other animals!”

Sparky and Spot bowed their heads. Spot motioned that he was sorry and that he didn’t know why they had gotten so mad.

The next couple of days were normal, until I caught George trying to peer through my window with binoculars. He even set up a couple of cameras outside his house.

One night, I came home from work tired and had forgotten all about the cameras George had set up. At that point, I had been with Sparky and Spot long enough that signing with them had become somewhat of a routine.

Suddenly, I heard sirens, loud and painful. Two cop cars pulled into my driveway, and a dog and three coyotes, all in body armor, came bursting into my home.

The lead coyote shouted, “You are under arrest for teaching and communicating with humans! Anything you say or do is and will be held against you in a court of law!”

Then, the three coyotes grabbed the three of us and shoved us in to the driveway. The last thing I saw was George’s smug face staring through his front window as we pulled out of the driveway and went down the road.

I knew I could not go to jail and survive. I was prey. The other guys would kick the crap out of me, and I’d be ripped to pieces. But what about poor Sparky and Spot? What would happen to them? The shiny, black rubber wheels stopped in front of a rectangle-shaped building that read police station, and the cops led us out of the car.

I asked one of them what they were going to do to Spot and Sparky.

The cop said, “Don’t worry about them. There’s a special place for them.”

As they split us up and took me to my cell, I could not help but shed a tear.

The next morning, I woke up to a loud buzz as the cell door opened. There was a platypus standing in the doorway.

“Your name Leonard?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Mr. Richer. I am going to be your defense attorney against the prosecution led by Mr. George, who has accused you of disturbing the peace by teaching and communicating with two humans.”

Richer led me into a van, and we drove. As we were driving, I couldn’t imagine how Sparky and Spot were feeling.

Before long, we stopped at a big building that read COURT of LAW and JUSTICE.

Mr. Richer turned to me from the passenger seat. “We’re here. Are you ready for this?”

I replied, “I’ve got nothing to lose except what I’ve already lost.”

Richer looked at me for a long time before saying, “Well then, let’s get to it.”

As we walked inside you could smell the sweat and stress from previous cases. It was as if I had turned into a magnet for the eyes in the room. Everyone stared at me.

One person yelled, “Animal lover!”

Another yelled, “Farm animal!”

I heard a loud bang of a gavel, and everyone went silent. I looked up to see an old elephant sitting behind the podium. She said her name was Mrs. Tuskworth and that she would be the judge in my case. I glanced to my left and saw George sitting with a kangaroo that was dressed in a suit and tie.

I sat down, and the judge began to speak.

She asked, “Both of you know why you are here, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Judge Tuskworth cleared her throat. “Alright, what happened? I want both of your sides of the story. George, you go first.”

The crocodile stood, looking smug and fearful at the same time. “It was a peaceful evening when I saw the disturbing connection between human and animal. It was clear that an unspoken bond had been formed between that sheep and his pets. To my knowledge, it looked like they were planning to overthrow the government and destroy the world with their human army! They will enslave us all again, I tell you! It’s happening!”

The judge looked at George in concern. “Thank you George, that’s enough for now. Leonard, it’s your turn. What happened?”

I stood up, looking at the wise face of the judge. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“First of all… so… I came home late from work and asked Sparky and Spot if they were hungry, that’s all. Second, why is communicating with them such a bad thing? I am bridging a gap between our two worlds. Who knows? Maybe they know things that we don’t, and if I can teach it to all animals and humans, it could seriously be of use! Animals could communicate with us. Like what if a human sees something suspicious like a robbery and can’t tell anyone? What if there was a gas leak, and the human can’t tell the animal to get out of the house?”

The judge raised her hoof to stop me speaking. “Okay, Leonard you have made your point. But may I ask both of you: how would you execute your beliefs or ideas? George, you first.”

George stood. “Well first, I would start by chopping off all humans’ fingers, and just in case, we would have to cut off their tongues.”

Tuskworth thought hard and said, “Okay, George, point taken. Leonard?”

I stood, angry at George’s words. “I would set up a business with my own funding and hold classes where I could teach humans and animals the language. I would have Sparky and Spot teach the humans while I teach the animals, and then we would bridge a gap in our society. I am sorry, judge, but what George is saying is immoral and crazy.”

Tuskworth stood and spoke one last time, “That’s it for today, I think. I will discuss with the government council. We will continue our session next week when I will decide who is right. Court will be adjourned until then.”

She banged her gavel.

When I was outside of the building, I called an Uber to drive me home. When I got home and opened the door, everything was a mess. The sofa was thrashed to pieces, and the coffee table was turned on its side. All the doors were pulled out, all my cabinets were open. It was like someone was looking for something.

Was I robbed? Did… did George do this?

I started to fix and clean everything and look for what they would’ve taken. Someone must have done this just to mess with me.

The next few days were mellow. It was not the same at home anymore without Sparky and Spot.

Finally, after one of the longest weeks of my life, it was time. The next day was the last hearing at the court. It was the final decision. We sat down, and the judge started to say, “Leonard, we will not provide funding, but we think you can, and will, bridge the gap in our society. You may have your humans back.”

I jumped up in joy. I’d done it! I’d won! I couldn’t believe I won!

Suddenly out of nowhere, George jumped on me, knocking me to the ground, thrashing me with his sharp claws and tearing my suit to pieces. I felt a piercing in my skin as blood started to run down my chest. Luckily, there were two security guards on standby who tackled George to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

My surroundings started to darken as my eyes started to close. When I woke up, I had a sharp pain in my chest. There was a monkey in the room, dressed up in a lab coat.

The large chimpanzee spoke in a calm, soothing voice.

“Take it easy, Leonard. You have nothing to be afraid of. I’m gonna take care of you. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Just then, Mr. Richer walked in with Sparky and Spot.

I asked, “What happened?”

“Everything’s taken care of, Leonard. George has been sentenced and is going to jail for a while.”

“That’s a relief.” I laughed as Sparky and Spot jumped on me. “I’m so happy to see you guys! The doctor said that he thinks I should get some rest now, okay?”

I shut my eyes and pictured my communication business and where I would build it as I fell into a deeper sleep.

The next week, after all my injuries were healed, I had my brand new staff break ground, and since then, it’s been three years. My business has been doing great. We are working hard to finally bridge the gap between animal and human.

I decided to finally start a family, and in the year after the incident, I married a lovely sheep named Clara. Two years later, we had three kids, two boys and one girl. Sparky and Spot grew and eventually, they told me that they wanted to be let go into the wild. That was a hard day.

Now, I sit here, writing this story. Even if I am a sheep, now I feel like a lion.

 

 

A Project Complete

The chill in the air woke me up; I forced myself to smile. The feet of the lucky rushed by, nervous about being late to work. The cars passed while kids screamed to their parents, not wanting to go to school.

Another day of seeing our problem not being resolved. I had to smile though, to show that I knew it would happen. Today would be the day. The sun was still rising over the endless horizon of the sea. I stretched and immediately noticed a pain in my shoulder; I had slept crookedly again. When my spine rolled up off the ground, the hard rocks sank into my skin. But today was different. I felt it in the air. A little kid wearing a navy blue school uniform walked by, tugging his father’s sleeve. Both were wearing hats.

“Please, Father! Please! I promise he won’t eat all the cheese! Can we ask his mom?” His father’s hands clenched, and his face turned red.

My father would’ve taken his belt and given me a good bruise down my back if I was six and asked him anything.

The doves flew in, bringing with them a love song and flying away at the slightest movements. The water was yet so violent. The waves so big, one would be careful of surfing. Even though it was mid-September, the weather was getting cooler.

I rummaged in my bag and found two Oreos a little girl kindly had given me while her mom wasn’t looking.

“Breakfast,” I mumbled and ate the cookies.

My Cardinals cap still laid empty next to me, except now it had a Twix wrapper in it.

Probably some half-hearted greedy person thought my hat was trash. But soon, the wrapper was carried away by the wind.

After an hour or two, the streets were calm, everyone at their destinations except for me. My destination was right where I was. I watched the waves, finding myself very bored. I started dancing, but no one was there to appreciate it.

I realized I smelled like expired milk. That might be why nobody wanted to be with me. Maybe I could go down to the shore for a quick, clean bath. No one was there to see me.

I decided to go and left my bag by my spot. I ran down the stairs that led me to the beach. Down by the shore, I took off my clothes and jumped into the water. After swimming a bit, a big wave started to form, but I was too into the water to swim back in time. The wave five times my size crashed on me as I frantically swam to the shore. But as the wave hit me, I felt all the air left in me leave.

Waking up on the shore was a big surprise. The first thing I saw was an even bigger surprise.

She was blond and looked about twenty years old. That was all I could make out of her, but she looked at me in concern.

“Are you okay? You were knocked out pretty long.” She brushed the hair out of my eyes and looked me straight in the eyes.

I said I was okay and checked that my clothes were on. I was in my clothes, which was weird since I had them off a while ago. Maybe she’d put them on? She helped me go back to my spot by the street and wrapped a towel around me even though I was already dry.

“It’s three in the afternoon, by the way. You should eat something.” She caught me eyeing a food truck across the street.

“Yes, please.” My stomach spoke for me before I realized I was asking a stranger for food.

“Hamburger?” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a twenty, making her way to the Burger Shack across the street.

I licked my lips.

 

After gobbling up the delicious hamburger, the lady said she had to go. The sun started to set while people started coming back from work. More busy feet and crying and complaining, when I should have been the one complaining since I have the street as a home. Everyone walked past me as if I were nothing.

But then, about an hour and a half later, four men in black uniforms and earpieces walked up to me, looking like they were lost or tired. Uh-oh! Why are they here? Did I do something? But before I could come up with an alibi, they stepped aside and made way for a blond lady.

A blond lady! I immediately got up and recognized her as my savior from the waves. She said nothing but took a paper from behind her back and held it out to me.

I looked at her, and she nodded with a warm smile. Shakily, my hand reached out for the

paper and took it. It read:

         Kris Yalgougly,

         Temporary Apartments

         Under Construction

         For those in need

         Head of Public Attention,

         Ashley Nofraih

I looked around and saw the construction workers and trucks had started to come in, the men examining blueprints. They were starting to build some places I could call home as I had requested five years ago. They settled down a couple blocks into the city and started to build.

I smiled at her. She smiled back. At last, peace.

 

 

No One’s Safe

Everyone has a fear, one that drives them insane. A fear which paralyzes you and consumes your soul. A fear that may or may not be real. Right out of Tennessee, located in the mountains, is a little Italian town called Nessuno è Sicuro, with a population of 746 people — well, now 745.

Emily walked out of her home for the first time in days. She needed food. She walked past the park and past the barber shop. She turned the corner and walked into the supermarket. She filled her basket with two six-packs of ramen and minute cook rice, and when she got to the checkout counter, there was a new cashier she had never seen before. Emily gave him the groceries and pulled out her wallet. As she looked up, the old man with a white beard was staring at her. “Hey, young missy. You look like that missing girl, except you don’t have that screwed up, ugly eye like her.”

“It wasn’t screwed up or ugly.” Emily grabbed her groceries and ran out the door.

Emily had a physical condition where her knees buckled quite often without her controlling it, and as she walked home, her knees buckled, and she fell in a puddle of water. Emily looked down to see her face in the water. It looked just like her sister’s. She started to cry. She just wished that she didn’t look like her sister so she did not have to see her face every day. She got up and she ran to the park. As she collapsed on the bench, she turned her head to read a missing poster. It said:

Two weeks ago, a girl by the name of Luara went missing. Luara was a 16-year-old girl by the time she went missing. Luara is a tan girl with red hair and one blue eye, and she is blind in the other eye. There is a cash reward. Please find her.

When Emily saw this, she felt her heart drop. She ran home and slammed the door as she fell on the floor. Emily was Luara’s best friend and identical twin sister. Emily kept thinking about what the cashier had said and how he called her sister’s eye “screwed up and ugly.” Emily and Luara’s mother was dead, and their father was a drunk who didn’t even care that Luara was missing. The two girls had a hard life, their mother died when they were two due to a car crash, their father beat their mother, and well, then Luara went missing. Emily always thought that the night before her mother died, her father came home drunk again and was punching her mother because he thought she was having an affair with her boss. Her father later told them that their mother had tried to leave them, but then she hit a tree with the car and died.

*Ding-dong* “Go away!” *Ding-dong* “I said go away!!” *Ding-dong* “Go the hell away!!! Ughhh.” Emily ran downstairs and opened the door to see Sheriff Davis standing on her front porch. “What is so urgent, Sheriff, that you had to ring my doorbell three times?”

“Sorry Emily, I know that you are worried and upset, but we have some new information about your sister you might want to hear.”

“What information? Please, please, tell me everything you know.”

“Well, we know your sister did not run away. We suspect it might have been a homicide. I am so sorry, and I know this information is stressful to hear,” the sheriff said, while fidgeting with his fingers.

“No! No, she’s not dead. She can’t be dead. This isn’t possible. Please oh please say this is just a premature verdict!” Emily’s heart started to ache, and she tried to hold back the tears.

“I am so sorry, Emily, but this is most likely what happened to her.”

“But — but they haven’t found a… a… a body yet.” Emily started to choke up.

“Again, I am so sorry, Emily, and we will get to the bottom of this, but please take care of yourself. Have a good day.”

“Excuse me, you don’t just ring someone’s doorbell three times, tell them their sister was murdered, and then say have a good day! I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have no empathy? Just go away, just go.” Emily’s knees buckled as she fell to the ground.

Later that evening, the news had been spread around the town, and Emily finally cracked. She cried and cried until her face went pale and she fell on the floor.

*Ding-dong* “No please… please, no.” *Ding-dong* Emily couldn’t get up, she couldn’t feel her legs, and she just wanted this all to stop. She did not want to open the door. She just kept crying on the floor for a minute. Suddenly, she felt warm, strong arms wrap around her, and she just stopped crying.

“Luara? Luara, is that you?” Emily looked up only to see Jack’s face.

Jack was one of Emily’s best friends. He was a pale 16-year-old boy with brown eyes and brown hair, and although he loved Emily, he had never liked Luara. Jack had come to check on Emily after he heard the news about her sister. Emily started to cry again, and so he held her tighter.
“Hey Em, don’t worry. Nothing can hurt you when you’re in between my strong arms!”

Emily stopped crying, and Jack looked at her face to see she had fallen asleep. She must have been tired from not sleeping for a while, he thought. Jack stayed up as Emily lay asleep for three whole hours. When Emily finally woke up, stretching and yawning, she realized that Jack was still there and screamed.

“Umm, how long was I out?” Emily asked.

“Not long, only a couple of hours. You should sleep a little longer though. It’s not healthy for you to not get any sleep.”

“Thanks, but I — I have to find Luara!”

“Emily, Luara is dead. Sheriff Davis told everyone last night.”

“But — but they haven’t found a body, which means they don’t know yet.”

“I am sorry Emily, the sheriff announced it while you were asleep, they found her. Well… they found her remains.”

“What? But she’s only been gone for two weeks! That’s not enough time. It isn’t her. It isn’t her!”

“I really am sorry, Em. I’m here for you.”

“You’re lying to me! You’ve never liked Luara, and that’s why you’re telling me these lies! I don’t care what you say, I’m going! I’m going to find her!” Emily walked out of her house and slammed the door behind her.

As Emily walked through the town, she saw people smiling as if things had gone back to the way they were. They were acting like no one had gone missing, like there hadn’t been a murder and there wasn’t a body. Emily wanted to scream. She wondered why nobody was worried, why they weren’t acting like someone would if another person had been murdered. She started to cry. She ran as fast as her legs could go until she reached the police station and fell to the floor in front of the sheriff, bawling and screaming.

“Where is she? Where is the body you claim is my sister? Huh?! Where is that… that thing, that you have mistaken for my sister? Where is it? Tell me!!!”

Sheriff Davis took Emily to the morgue. They walked into a room, and Emily gasped. All that was left of Luara was her ripped up body, her bones, some rags which were her clothing, her hair, and her one blind eye. Emily felt a sharp pain in her stomach, her heart started to beat faster, and she was short of breath. She remembered when she and her sister were seven years old, and Emily had been sick with the stomach flu. Luara stayed up all night to distract Emily from the pain by talking about their birthday and how fun it would be. They had wanted to celebrate their birthday with all of their friends and eat chocolate cake. Emily never thought that this was the way it would all end.

Two days later, Emily finally stopped crying. She told the sheriff that he had better start an investigation right away. She was trying everything to get her mind off of the thing that they had called her sister, but nothing was working. Emily was sitting on the couch in the living room when she heard *ding-dong.* “Just come in,” she muttered.

Jack opened the door and came in. “Hey, Em, I think I have something to help you ease the pain.”

“What?”

“A party! I’ll be there too. It will help, just please come. Please.”

“Fine, I need something to help me right now, so I’ll try anything. Anything.”

“Great, then I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Great.”

After Jack left, Emily got up, and she headed to her father’s room. He was passed out from being drunk. His closed eyes started to shift back and forth rapidly as he slept. Emily had never seen this happen to anyone before and did not know if this was normal. Emily looked at her father’s strange eyes in shock. Suddenly, his eyes opened up to reveal a glowing yellow, and Emily got scared and ran down the hall to her room. Emily’s room was clean and had two beds, one for her and one for Luara. It had pink, striped wallpaper that was starting to peel at the top. There was a leak in the middle of the ceiling and a metal bucket on the ground for the water to drip into. Emily sat on Luara’s bed and cuddled up under her sheets. They still smelled like Luara, and Emily felt safe and warm as she fell asleep.

When Emily got up, she was careful to not move the covers too much as she didn’t want to lose the feeling of Luara. She walked over to the vanity they shared and started to comb her hair, and when she looked in the mirror and saw the dark circles around her eyes, it was like she saw Luara. Emily called out to her.

“Luara! Luara, come here! Come back to me!!”

Then, Emily remembered it was her reflection, and she got so pissed that she punched the glass and shattered the mirror. Her fist was bloody, but she didn’t realize because of her crying. She suddenly heard the doorbell ring. Emily realized she’d forgotten all about the party as she fixed her hair and ran down to the door. She didn’t know why Jack had come early. She opened the door to see Danny instead of Jack.

“Uhh hi, Danny. What are you doing here?” Danny was one of Luara’s best friends. He was a 15-year-old boy with green eyes and dark brown skin. He normally never talked to anyone except Luara, but now that Luara was gone, he at least needed to talk to someone like her just one last time.

“I wanted to see Luara one last time. You look just like her, I’m sorry,” Danny said in a quiet voice.

“Uhhh… Co-come in.” Danny walked through the door and looked around as if he had never seen the inside of their old house before. “Danny are you okay?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“You just seem a little out of it.”

“I’m sorry, I-I-I just miss her. I don’t really like people, but she… she was different.”

“I’m sorry, Danny. I understand how you feel. Hey, do you maybe want to come to a party with me and Jack tonight? I know parties aren’t really your thing, but it might make you feel better.”

“Sure, but ummm, is that blood on your hand? I can help you out if it’s a cut.”

Emily hesitated, she didn’t want him to think she’d done something bad. After a moment, she said, “Umm thanks, but it’s just raspberry jam.”

“Oh okay. Can I stay with you until the party?”

“Um yeah, sure. Just take a seat in the living room over there.”

The room was dusty and old. There was a sofa next to an old bay window and an old, antique coffee table in the middle of the room. On the wall facing the right was a big fireplace. The hardwood floor started to break. However, the room was cozy. Danny sat down as he waited, and just then the doorbell rang.

“Hi, it’s Jack. Em, you ready?” Jack shouted through the mail slot in the door.

Danny opened the door. “Hi Jack, Emily is upstairs getting ready. Come on in.”

After a moment of shock, Jack entered the old house and sat on the sofa. As he sat down, dust came up from the sofa, and he started to cough.

“Danny, are you okay down there?” Emily called.

“Yeah. Jack’s here too, by the way.”

“Okay, I’m almost ready.” Emily combed her hair, and she ran downstairs to see Jack and Danny. “You guys ready to go?” Emily asked. Both boys said yes, and so they got in Jack’s car and drove to the party. The party was at a tall townhouse made of brick. There was an alley on either side of the house. One of them led to a big backyard. The three teenagers walked down the alley and opened a gate to the backyard. There was loud music playing, people dancing with drinks in their hands, and Emily could swear she smelled a person barbecuing. The party smelled of cheap booze and roasting meat, and the smell of roasting meat would have been mouth-watering by itself, but mixed with the smell of cheap booze, it was nauseating.
“Hey, Em you want a drink?” Jack asked.

“Uhh… no thanks, I don’t drink.”

“Okay. Danny, you?”

“I’ve never had one before, but it must be fun!” Danny said.

“Lmao okay, two drinks coming right up.”

The three teenagers danced and ate. Emily wanted to leave. Danny and Jack had gotten drunk, and Jack was starting to yell angrily at random people while Danny was acting dazed and had started touching people and making them uncomfortable.

“Hey guys, I’m ready to go home now,” Emily said.

“Em, just stay a little longer,” Jack said as he started to laugh. Danny was passed out on a table by the speakers.

“Look, if you guys want to stay, I’ll walk home.”

“Okay, Em! Night night.” Jack started to walk back to the crowd of dancing people. Emily was shocked that he didn’t try to help her get home. She started to walk away and as she opened the gate to one of the alleys, she saw that the other end was blocked off.

“Ughh, damn it. This is the wrong side!” Emily said, and she was about to leave when she saw a person at the end of the alley. She wondered if he was drunk and needed help leaving. Emily walked up to the man but gasped when he turned around suddenly.

His eyes were shifting back and forth and glowing yellow. Emily thought they looked similar to her father’s eyes. His mouth was foaming and had two large, sharp fangs sticking out of it. He started to grow hair from all over. A tail sprouted from behind the man, and then all of a sudden he grew wings. Emily stared in shock. She wondered what this thing was and whether she was going to die. The thing looked at Emily and started to go after her. Emily ran, screaming down the long alley all the way back to the party. Her heart was beating so fast it felt as though it would burst. She was hyperventilating when she finally ran through the gate and tried to find her friends. She found Danny passed out on a table and grabbed him and started to shake him. Danny, still very dazed, said, “Hi Mom, what time is it? Is Santa here yet? Hauhah.”

“No it’s me, Emily! And what? It’s June! Get up, there’s a monster thing. Help! O-M-G, O-M-G, we need to leave!!! Come on, get up! Come on!” Danny started to get up as Emily frantically looked for Jack, who was dancing next to two women when she found him.

“Jack! Jack, come on we have to leave! There’s — there’s a thing outside!! It-it-it it’s a monster thing!! We have to run, come on!”

“You’re delusional, Luara! Did you meet my friends? Uhh… umm… this is, uh, blonde girl number one and blonde girl numbah two.” Jack waved his drink in the air. “Look at my big muscles! Huahha.”

“Come on, Jack, you’re drunk. We have to go! Come on!!”

“Luara, I told you to just go if you want to go! Just go the hell away!”

Emily couldn’t believe he was acting so mean, or that he’d called her Luara. Emily grabbed Jack and Danny, dragging them to the car. Suddenly though, her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor and couldn’t get up. Jack and Danny couldn’t help her since they were too drunk. They all watched as the monster thing flew over the brick wall of the alley and started to head straight toward them.

“Jack! Danny! Help, please! I can’t get up!” Jack and Danny’s bodies filled with fear when they saw the thing. Jack grabbed Emily and started to run to his car. He threw Emily in the back as Danny hopped in the back as well. Jack threw open the door to the driver’s seat, grabbed his key from his pocket, and dropped it. The three teenagers were too scared they had forgot that Jack had been drinking. His hands were so sweaty he kept dropping his keys, all while the thing was coming straight toward them.

“Jack, pick up the key! Jack, come on!”

“I’m trying to, it just — it just — ”

“It’s right there, Jack! Hurry!”

“Got it!” Jack started to drive away. He drove past the supermarket and turned the corner past the barber shop. They saw more of the monsters in the park, and as they passed, the monsters looked up at them. The teenagers felt their bodies go numb. They couldn’t move or speak. Everything was quiet. And then the things started to fly at the car. Jack hit the gas pedal and sped sixty miles per hour down the road. He drove past the houses and buildings until he crashed into a tree. Emily had been so scared she forgot Jack was driving drunk. She looked out the window and saw the things approaching them.

“Run, RUN, we’ve got to RUN!!!” she screamed.

The teenagers unbuckled their seat belts and tried to run. “I-I-I think I’m stuck! Danny, Emily, help me please!” Jack yelled. Emily and Danny helped Jack get out, but they cut his leg in the process. The three of them ran into a nearby store for shelter.

Emily thought about how her sister could have been killed by one of these things. These things could be people she knew! Emily thought about her sister and who could possibly have done this to her. Who could have hated her so much. And that was when she realized…

Emily gasped as a thought came through her head, and her body went cold. “Jack… where were you two weeks ago?”

“What? Why?”

“Jack, just tell me where you were.”

Jack frowned. “Emily… you — you don’t think that I could’ve done that to Luara… do you?”

“Jack! Where were you?”

“I don’t want to tell you!”

“What could you have been doing that’s worse than murdering my sister?” Emily demanded as she started to cry.

“I was high, okay?! I didn’t want people to know about it,” Jack said angrily.

Emily didn’t believe him. “That’s such a bad excuse, even I could do better! You were high? I mean come on, you could’ve said you were on a date or at a party, or even at the movies! But you had to say you were high? You hated her! You-you-you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“What? No! You’re paranoid. Why the hell would I be one of those things? You don’t really think I’m one of those things. Do you?”

Emily and Danny started to back away from Jack. “St-stay away from us, Jack! Danny, we’ve got to run!”

“Guys wait! I said wait!” Jack grabbed Emily and threw her across the wall with all of his strength. “Emily, I’m sorry, but you can’t think I did that. Do you really think that?”
“Jack, why would you do that to her?” Danny helped Emily up and started to run out of the shop. As they ran, they saw Jack limping behind them trying to catch up. They turned around to see one of the things jump on Jack and rip him apart.

He called one last time to say, “Em, this is your fault!”

Emily started to cry. Her childhood best friend had just died. She had seen him get ripped apart, heard him scream… she could even smell his blood in the air. His screams echoed in her head, but she couldn’t think about them for long. She needed to run away.

Emily and Danny ran to Emily’s house. They didn’t stop until they made it in and slammed the door behind them. They fell to the floor as they tried to catch their breath, and Emily looked over to see her father sitting in a lounge chair. The fire in the fireplace was roaring in front of him as he stood up and turned around. Emily got up and ran to give him a hug. Her father was shocked, but he hugged her back. Emily started to cry again.

“Da-da-dad! Ja-Ja-Jack, he — um, he was the one who killed Luara,” Emily said as she tried to not get fully choked up.

Her father hugged her tighter, “Oh, sweet, sweet daughter. You innocent dumb girl… your friend wasn’t the one who killed your sister. You didn’t really believe that, did you?”

“What — what do you mean?”

“I mean, your friend didn’t kill your sister. You two come sit down.” Emily and Danny walked over to the couch and sat down. “Let me give you a little history lesson on your beloved hometown.”

Emily froze in fear, scared for what her father was going to say.

“A long time ago in Italy, there was a man who decided to create a new race. He made 23 of these, well, creatures, and he watched as they changed and they became monsters. The man tried to keep his creations a secret, but one night someone broke into his lab and found them. The spy told the city what he had seen, and they all grabbed their torches and stormed his lab. The scientist found out they were coming though, and so he took his creatures to the dock, and they fled in the night. He sailed to Louisiana where they were eventually attacked. The scientist was burned at the stake, and only thirteen of the creatures survived. The creatures ran until they were safe here in this town called Nessuno è sicuro. None of the people speak Italian here except for some ancestors of the original 13, but Nessuno è sicuro means no one’s safe. Emily, your ancestors are two of the original 13, and your mother and Luara weren’t safe here.”

Emily and Danny were frozen in fear, their lives had been a lie, everything they knew was a lie. “You’re lying, none of this is true,” Emily insisted.

“Then explain the creatures outside. Explain your dead sister — your dead mother even!”

“Mom died in a car crash, Jack killed Luara, and those things out there they are not real! I don’t believe it!”

“No Emily, I killed your mother, I killed your sister, and those things out there are your flesh and blood. They’re family.”

“No! Why would you kill Mom? Why would you kill Luara? You don’t kill the people you love!”

“Love? Who said anything about love?” Emily’s father let out a sneer. “They didn’t have the gene activated like you and me. They weren’t strong enough, and so I did what I had to do!”

Emily’s heart felt a pain she had never felt before, a feeling from deep, deep down inside her. The agony started to spread all over her body as she started to scream! Her eyes started to glow, her mouth now had fangs and was foaming. She grew wings, a tail, and hair grew all over her body. This pain felt like no other pain in the world.

“You’re changing. You’re doing it! Embrace it! Hahahaha!”

Emily’s mind began to shut off, her body charged at Danny — she didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t help it. Emily ripped Danny’s head off of his body, and it flew across the room. The blood splattered in her face and got into her mouth. It tasted bitter. Like… well, how else could you describe it other than like your friend’s blood? Emily’s mind was shutting off, and she could feel it. Her father started to run, but she grabbed him and threw him into the fire. She didn’t want to do this, and she tried to fight, but it wasn’t working. Her father’s body caught on fire, which set the house on fire, burning both her father and Danny’s bodies.

Emily flew out of the burning house and watched as it crumbled. As the monster took over Emily, she saw bright lights and heard loud noises coming from all directions. Emily felt like she was drowning and couldn’t swim to the water’s surface. She finally reached the bottom, and her mind fully shut off. Emily couldn’t see anything, feel anything, or hear anything. She was just asleep, and later that night she killed everything in her sight, until there was nothing left living in the small town.

Emily woke up on the cold, hard street. She looked at her hands to see that they were covered in blood that she didn’t know how had got there. She stood up, remembering nothing of what had happened the night before. The streets were covered in red, the air reeked of iron. Emily walked through the streets and saw bodies covering the sidewalks, guts on the walls, in the streets, in the trees, and even on the street lights. The remains of people she knew and people she did not were scattered everywhere. Emily walked over to where her house used to be and sat down on the burnt remains of the place she once called home. She wanted to know what had happened the night before. She wanted to know if she had caused all of this destruction herself, and more importantly, she wanted to know if she could do it again.

 

The Lost Gold

Once there was a bank employee named Paul who worked at one of the world’s most sophisticated gold vaults. It was called the global bank. Loads of gold was stored in the building’s basement. It was one of the largest in the world.

Paul was doing his normal business, working with people setting up bank accounts when his manager, Mr. Smith, told him that the security cameras in the gold vault weren’t working and that he must check the problem and fix it, as Paul was also an engineer. Only once before, Paul had been down in the vault.

The bank owner gave him the combination numbers to open the vault. There were several locks and complex doors; it needed to be like this to prevent any robbery. After the innocent employee headed toward the lower levels, he found the door. It was massive. There were so many intricate locks that laid in front of the door. Paul casually entered the combination code to open the vault, but something strange happened. The vault’s massive door was not opening.

Paul was completely shocked. The door just wouldn’t open. But then, he realized something. Mr. Smith only gave him the combination numbers, not the exact pattern. With six numbers in the combination, there would be tons of different six digit numbers to open the vault door. And then Paul thought, Why would my manager give me the numbers but not the proper code? Trying to avoid going back upstairs, he pursued the attempt to open the door. He tried each and every pattern possible. After nearly 30 minutes of trial and error, he finally opened the door with the correct code/pattern. When it was opened, Paul was amazed because he had only seen this much gold once in his life.

His boss had done another strange thing: he did not specify which security camera was “broken.” Paul examined each camera extra carefully and saw that all the cameras were working properly and were intact. He began to get a little suspicious. He was at the same time confused. He climbed down the ladder from the security camera in the ceiling. He was about to walk out until something strange caught his eye. One of the golden bars in the vault seemed to be chipped. A little, gray dot appeared on the gold bar. Paul inspected it closely until he uncovered a baffling sight. He realized the gold stored in the vault was fake when he saw missing paint on the gold. They were just gray steel bars painted gold.

Paul scratched the gold and sure enough, the gray steel became more visible. He was shocked. He didn’t know what to do, but he knew what was happening was wrong and that he should put an end to it. But he began to uncover something else. If Mr. Smith instructed him to fix security cameras that were healthy, why did he send Paul down in the first place? Did Mr. Smith deliberately do this because the gold was a counterfeit, and he wanted Paul to find out? Paul didn’t know why. He thought about calling the police. Never in his seven years working at the bank had he witnessed anything like this. He exited the vault and headed upstairs thinking to himself, The manager has recently been preventing people from going into the vault. But one thing still lingered around in Paul’s mind: If my manager was so protective of the gold vault, then why did he casually tell me to go down? Does he trust me? As Paul went to his office to tell Mr. Smith what happened, he felt a bit nervous. He opened the door to the manager’s office and stressfully entered the large and nicely decorated office. It had a beautiful, lavish floor and a modern interior design.

“I think the gold downstairs is fake,” Paul said anxiously.

“I know!” Mr. Smith said in an angry and annoyed tone.

Paul had no idea what to say next. “You’re a fraud,” he said.

“I’m no fraud, but a very clever person,” Paul’s manager said in disgust.

And with that, Paul left the manager’s office. But he had an idea. An idea that would expose Mr. Smith.

Paul believed that the bank’s money was stolen by the owner and kept in his household. And replaced with artificial gold. He assumed that Mr. Smith had stolen gold to sell it and make money. He was determined to stop it and decided to follow Mr. Smith to his home. So at 5:00 p.m., Paul got into his car and saw Mr. Smith enter into his car. Immediately, Paul followed him. After 30 minutes of following Mr. Smith, they began to exit the city and enter into a small town. Luckily, his manager was oblivious to the car following him. At the edge of the town in a large house isolated from the neighborhood, Mr. Smith stopped and pulled into the front of his house. Paul parked his car a few yards away and watched Mr. Smith walk into his house. But then, he realized that he didn’t think about how he would get into the house. After Mr. Smith entered his home, he got out of his car and walked around the side of his house. He looked through one of the basement windows. He saw a door and could see something shining through. It could only be gold. Paul found out how to enter into the basement. One of the windows was small and had a very small opening. With a stick he found in the front yard, he pried open the window and squeezed through and got into the house. He had a sack with him to hold the gold. He got past the door and took some gold and filled up the sack. It got heavy, but it was manageable. Suddenly, Paul tripped and made a loud noise. Seconds later, he could hear someone coming down the basement steps. Despite having throbbing pain in his knee, he threw the sack outside and climbed out, but as his leg got out through the window, Mr. Smith ran toward him. With all his might, the manager grabbed Paul’s leg and tried to drag him through the window. Paul, who already had his knee in pain, used all his power to pull his leg back. Mr. Smith was pulling harder than ever. He wouldn’t let Paul get away. But something the manager had just noticed was that the shoes on the “thief’s” feet were strangely familiar.

“Paul!” the manager screamed. “Come here.” Normally, people would think that Paul would break away, but instead he had the feeling that Mr. Smith was trying to welcome him. Paul decided to go through the window thinking he could uncover something.

“I understand you tried to steal the gold to give the police proof,” the manager said in an annoyed tone. “But there is a big reason I deliberately led you right to the artificial gold. You see, I secretly work for another business that’s illegally selling gold to make money. I led you to the counterfeit gold because I wanted you to join me. You’re one of my most intelligent workers. I want you to be part of this business.”

Paul knew this was wrong but realized he would make a ton of money. Still, he declined the offer, and Mr. Smith made a big mistake. And with that, Paul ran out through the window, and Mr. Smith chased after him.

“I will call the police. I will end you,” Mr. Smith threatened. Paul immediately got into his car and sped away. There was nothing Mr. Smith could do. Calling the police made no sense, because if he called the police, he would basically be calling them because someone declined a job offer. Paul was in total control of the situation. Knowing that he just caught someone doing something illegal, he could easily call the police and get Mr. Smith into trouble.

The next day, Paul told the FBI that Mr. Smith was making money in an illegal business. The whole FBI crew came that morning. Mr. Smith was furious at Paul and came face to face with him.

“I will destroy you,” he said angrily. But for now, Mr. Smith’s five-year imprisonment would keep Paul in good hands.

Paul was glad he did the right thing. He was well-known internationally because he exposed one of the most illegal businesses in the world. People in the illegal business knew about Paul and what he did. Despite all this glory, the employees in the illegal business that weren’t sent to jail were after Paul. And Mr. Smith would be back.

The hunter would soon become the hunted.

THE END (FOR NOW)

 

The Darkest of Depths

       

The Bathroom Toilets

“Hey! Hey Daniel,” Jack said in a whisper. “Let’s go to the bathroom so we can escape class.”

“Okay, I’ve got Ben,” Jack said. “Let’s get going.”

“Great idea,” Daniel said. “Just let me finish this one problem… done.”

The classroom was big and had desks, chairs, charts, graphs, and number lines. Boring and extremely ordinary. Jack, Ben, and Daniel quietly snuck out and walked down to the bathroom while the math teacher, a big-eyed, brown-haired, tall, glossy woman, helped students with multiplication and division and direct proportionality.

“C’mon guys, let’s go! We don’t want somebody to catch us,” Ben whispered, racing down the hallway.

“Wait,” Daniel said. “Just because you’re quicker than us doesn’t mean you have to rush ahead.” He caught up to Ben and tugged him by the hand. Daniel received a visible shock, so he quickly pulled away from Ben.

When they got to the bathroom, they huddled in a corner.

“So, did you see that new game, the one with the amazing fantasy storyline?” Jack said.

“Yeah, I just got it this weekend. It is so cool! Totally worth the twenty dollars,” Daniel replied.

“Hey, check this out,” Jack said. He ignited a flame on his finger and plunged it into the sink nearby. The water sizzled and bubbled as it evaporated.

“Cool!” Ben said. Jack looked at his friends in the mirror over the sink.

“Hey, Daniel, your hazel eyes are really cool, especially in contrast to your brown hair,” Jack said.

“Why, thanks for noticing, I guess. Yours is really cool too, with your black hair and red eyes. And Ben, your blond hair and blue eyes are cool too,” Daniel commented.

“Thanks,” said Ben. “I think this all has something to do with our powers. I mean, your eyes would be blue like mine if you had electric powers, or red like Jack’s if you had fire powers, or nature colors if you had nature powers, like Daniel. Standing together like this, you really notice how different we all look.”

Suddenly, the water in the toilets glowed, and the toilets flushed for no apparent reason.

“What the… ” Jack said. Slowly, Daniel walked up to one of the closed stalls where he could see the toilet glowing and knocked on the door.

“Hello? Are you all good in there?” Daniel said hesitantly.

He realized the door was unlocked and pushed it open. “Hey, guys! Come look at this,” Daniel said. Jack and Ben slowly walked over and looked in the stall. The water wasn’t water anymore. It had become a swirling portal.

“Ah!” yelled Ben. “What’s going on!”

“Just what I needed,” Daniel muttered.

The portal glowed even more, and suddenly their feet were sucked down the toilet. “AHHHHHHH,” they yelled as their bodies went under, all of them trying to grab onto the slippery bowl of the toilet. The rest of the portal was flushed down with them, and the toilet flushed normally.

 

A Dark Realm with a Cold Reaper

“No matter how many times I do this, I never get used to it!” Ben yelled as they flew through the portal with its interdimensional purple energy swirling around them and sucking them forward.

“Look, there is the end of the portal,” Jack said. They flew out of the portal and landed on the floor with a thud.

Daniel looked up. “Wow, look at this place!” he said with awe. Everything was black — the sky, the floor. Yet they could see. They stood up and walked around with slight curiosity, but looked for an exit. It was just black as far as the eye could see.

Suddenly, a figure appeared. A hooded cloak completely covered its face and a scythe was strapped to its back. Two minions stood at its side. One was an elf-like thing completely made out of snow, with razor ice claws and teeth. The other was taller but looked the same, with a staff that had a crystal that looked like a mini portal. Then, the figure unveiled its face. It was a woman with a scar over and under her left eye, partially covered by an eye patch. Her long hair hung around her face like icicles.

“Hello,” she rasped. “I am Chloe.” Her voice was like nails scraping on a chalkboard and cold like an untamed blizzard.

“Uh, hey Chloe,” Ben said, then added in a whisper, “Guys, what are we going to do about the crazy psycho woman?”

Then Chloe said, as if reading their minds, “You could start by coming with me and being good little brats.”

“Um, no thanks,” Daniel replied, taking a small step backward.

“Maybe we could distract her?” Ben suggested in a whisper.

“Good idea,” Daniel said. “I think I know exactly how to do that.”

“My boss wants you preferably alive but, if forced to, he said I could kill you,” Chloe said, touching the blade of her scythe lovingly.

“Look, lady,” Jack said. “How much is your boss paying you to do this? Maybe we could strike a better dea — ”

“Silence, fool!” Chloe screamed.

“Just joking,” Jack said.

“Why do you want to kill us?” Daniel asked.

“Because I’ve always wanted vengeance on elementals like you. You see, about 3,000 years ago, I had a husband who was an elemental, and one day he and his other elemental scum found out that the eternal flame was flickering.”

“On my signal, we run,” Daniel whispered so Chloe couldn’t hear.

“Hey, I heard something about the eternal flame last year. What is it?” Jack asked, trying to continue the conversation.

“Who is your boss?” Ben asked.

“Not important. Speaking of backstories, yours is horrifying and dark. My kind of story. So anyway, he and his friends went off to save the eternal flame even though they knew they might never come back. In the end, they saved the eternal flame but didn’t make it out. I knew that he never really cared about me and only about his elemental pow — Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!”

Daniel, Jack, and Ben ran away as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Ben ran the fastest, tiny sparks flying behind him.

Daniel turned around and said to Chloe, “Hey, creep, as much as we would love to hear your thrilling backstory, we would rather not die.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? After them!” she screamed to her minions with rage.

Jack, Daniel, and Ben ran for five minutes, all the while rapidly dodging balls of glowing snow and balls of ice emitting mist.

“Careful!” Daniel said, looking back at the snow balls. “That’s liquid nitrogen. That stuff will freeze you solid!

“Look, a temple!” Jack said. Chunks of stone were everywhere, littering the ground like ancient ruins. It did not look inviting in the least, with the crumbling door/archway at the front and the old, half-eroded, scary dog gargoyles on the shredded flying buttresses, but they had no choice but to seek shelter there.

They ran through the temple, and then Daniel stopped.

“Go, I’ll hold them back!” Daniel said. He thought about nature with its natural energy and raised his hands. Tree roots snaked their way out of the ground and completely blocked the entrance. Then, he ran to catch up with the others.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Chloe yelled in frustration. “This can’t be!”

 

The Temple of Webs

Daniel finally caught up with the others deep in the temple.

“Well, we are finally safe,” Jack said. “At least for now.” He ignited a flame on the tip of his pointer finger so that they could see their terrible surroundings. Shadows danced across the walls like ghosts. The columns that lined the temple ruins were held up by stone statues of people, their rock-hard faces contorted in rage, fear, and agony. Cobwebs hung everywhere, some were unnaturally huge. The walls were embedded with fossilized bones and human skulls. Jewels covered the limestone walls and floor.

Except for Jack’s flame on his finger, everything was in total darkness. They then found a whole other room, exactly identical to the last one, except for weird paintings lining the walls.

“Wow, these look like ancient hieroglyphics,” Ben said. “If these are what people thought about, then they must have gone crazy at some point.”

On the walls were pictures of giant spiders breathing fire, attacking towns with fires, and having people run away before them. A tornado with an eye and claws was standing over the whole thing like this was some kind of show.

“Hey guys,” Jack said. “Does that eye look familiar to you?”

 

Suddenly, the room shook, and rocks fell from the ceiling. One landed near Daniel, and the shock wave sent him flying backward.

“Uh, guys,” Ben said in a very nervous voice. “ Do you hear something?”

“You mean, besides the rocks trying to crush us?” Daniel yelled.

“Yeah, he’s right,” Jack said. “It sounds like the shuffling of lots of legs. And look, the cobwebs are glowing!”

“Oh great, with our luck, we will have to… Ahh! A giant spider!”

 

With a thud, a spider that was very big indeed landed on the ground and hissed a loud hiss. Suddenly, part of the ceiling collapsed, separating Daniel from Jack, Ben, and the spider.

“Oh no, what am I going to do!” Daniel yelled in panic. “I have to find a way back to them! Wait, what’s that?” Under a pile of rubble, there was an eerie, purple glow. Daniel pushed away the rubble, and underneath there was a ledge. At the bottom was a little room that looked like it was going to collapse at any second. A portal swirled at the end, glittering invitingly.

Daniel slowly climbed down, but he fell and cut his knee in the process. Despite the pain, he stood up and walked to the portal. Maybe this portal will lead me back to my friends, he thought. Then, another crash shook the ceiling above him, and the walls started to move. With a start, he realized more spiders were awakening around him, and there were so many of them. Hurriedly, he bent his legs and jumped into the portal.

 

A Cheesy Fight

Daniel appeared on an island made out of a sticky, whitish-yellowish substance that smelled terrible. The palm trees, the sand, and the water were all made out of it. The only thing that wasn’t made out of it was the sky, which was still black. Daniel began to explore a little bit. The smell was revolting, and the yellow ocean stretched out for miles and miles on end.

“Man, this didn’t take me back to my friends, it took me to a yellow island. I wonder how to get off of it. Maybe you have to try and eat it ‘cause it looks a little like cheese? I guess that’s where I’ll start.” Daniel bent down and tried to bite the cheese, but he screamed in disgust. “What kind of cheese is this?” he said.

“The kind that gives you anger,” said a mysterious voice.

“Well, I guess if you put it tha — wait, who said that?” Daniel said. There was no reply. Then, suddenly, fins emerged from the cheese water, also made out of cheese. About ten or maybe more. They circled the island first, then jumped out of the water. The fins were attached to sharks made out of cheese. Daniel summoned cheese roots from the ground and hit the sharks out of the air and into the water with a sound like a bullet through the air. They hit the water with extreme force, sending cheese waves up high, and yet the sharks didn’t have a scratch. No dents in the cheese or anything.

Wait, Daniel thought, If these sharks are invincible, then how do I defeat them? Then, a shark much bigger than the others emerged from the water with a man made out of cheese wearing a cheese poncho riding it.

“This is what you might call a cheesy fight,” he said.

“Ha ha,” said Daniel. “Very funny.”

“To have the privilege to summon a portal to get off this island, you must first defeat me and my sharks,” the man said, squaring up.

“Oh yeah, before I destroy you, I want to find out your name,” Daniel said, bracing himself. “So… what is your name?”

“My name is Maxarella.”

I’m almost out of ideas to stall him, but I still can’t figure out how to defeat the sharks. Okay, it’s time to resort to the back-up plan, Daniel thought, sweat beating down his forehead. Suddenly, Daniel noticed marks on some of the sharks’ fins that looked suspiciously like bites. A happy, confident thought popped into his mind. Daniel bent his legs and jumped onto a shark and bit it as hard as he could. He focused all his anger on the cheese man for trying to kill him, all while trying to stop himself from gagging. The cut on Daniel’s knee immediately healed with little, green sparks flying from the wound. The feeling was refreshing, like being in a painful position and then being allowed to relax. I didn’t know I could do that, Daniel thought. The shark dissolved into mist with a sound that sounded a lot like a fart. That’s it! Daniel thought. That’s their weakness. Daniel summoned vines that carried him to the other sharks.

Some sharks ran away, realizing that Daniel knew how to beat them, while others tried to fight and ended up thrashing while Daniel was on top of them. Multiple times, Daniel was almost thrown off before he got the chance to bite them. Maxarella, meanwhile, was summoning balls of cheese from his hands and throwing them desperately at his oppressor.

“Well, Maxarella, it seems I’ve learned two things from this experience,” Daniel said as a cheese ball flew over his head. First, your weakness is that you can’t survive being bitten. Second, if I focus on my anger, I can heal anything.” He bit into the shark he was standing on. Just like the last one, the shark dissolved with a fart-like sound. Then, his roots carried him to the next one and the one after that and the one after that until all the sharks were gone, except for the big one that Maxarella was standing on.

“Well, Max, you’re looking a little blue like blue cheese.” Then, he hopped on the shark and bit it. The shark dissolved into mist with a fart sound.

“NOOOOO,” said Maxarella, as he dissolved into mist when Daniel bit him. Daniel rushed back to the island and looked around the tiny island for the portal. He soon found it waiting for him. Daniel quickly spit into the cheese sand to get rid of the terrible taste in his mouth. He thought about his friends and jumped into the portal.

 

Hopscotch with a Lava Pit

“Oh man,” Jack said, trying to catch his breath. “That… was tiring.”

“I know, right!” Ben said, also out of breath. “How did we even manage to defeat that spider?” Jack and Ben were sitting in the temple which had rocks strewn across the floor. Sweat was covering their bodies, and their hearts were pounding like drums.

“Well, we survived, and that’s the important thing… except for one of us,” Jack said.

“Don’t say that,” Ben said. “For all we know, Daniel could be fine, just trying to find his way back.”

Jack stood up suddenly. “Let’s see if we can dig through the rubble.” He tried lifting one of the rocks and fell back with a crash. “Man, these things weigh more than a ton, literally. There is no way we can get through.”

“Hey, look,” Ben said. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” He pointed to the spider with interest.

“Uh, an endless temple which we will never get out of?”

“No dude, I’m seeing a door inside the dead spider’s mouth,” Ben said.

“Yeah,” Jack said with sarcasm in his voice. “And pigs can fly — wooah!” A wooden door with a brass handle, shiny and new, was actually sitting in the spider’s hairy, slime-covered mouth.

“Should we go in?” Ben asked.

“I… guess,” Jack replied. They slowly walked in. The spider’s mouth was hot and sticky, covered in hairs. Jack and Ben tried hard to crawl around the hairs and also tried hard not to gag. Once they made it, Jack grabbed the brass handle and opened the door. The room on the other side was a long hallway with doors at the end. It smelled like sulfur and ash. They paused and listened, feeling the earth tremor below like the earth itself was angry.

“Whew!” Jack said. “I’m glad we made it out of that, because that was disgusting.”

“That must be the way out,” Ben said.

“There is only one way to find out,” Jack replied. He took a step toward the doors. Suddenly, fire sprang up out of the ground and engulfed his foot.

 

“Ah!” Ben yelled.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “Remember fire plus me equals no harm.” Then, a pit appeared at the end of the hall, and lava erupted from inside. “This hallway is filled with traps,” Ben said. “I can guide us through them.”

“Okay, the first part was obvious. The second part, not so much. How will you know how to guide us through them?” Jack asked.

“Oh, I’m surprised I didn’t tell you,” Ben said. “Remember that science class where we learned about electrical currents? Well, in that class I learned that I can sense electrical circuits, so I can sense the traps in the walls.”

“Cool, very cool,” said Jack. “But what about you? I’m okay with lava, but will you be okay? It could probably fry you.”

“No, I’ll be fine. Anyway, basically what I’m saying is, follow me and step exactly where I step.”

“Fine with me,” Jack said.

They slowly made their way across the hall, dodging axes, logs, flames, toxic gases, and random holes that appeared in the floor. They ducked, rolled, jumped, ran, punched, and ducked some more until they reached the lava pit.

“This whole thing reminds me of hopscotch,” Ben said. “Okay, last part is the lava pit. There are small columns of stone that we can use to get across. Step on the columns that I step on because some of them will collapse when you step on them,” he added hurriedly.

Step by step, jump by jump, they finally made it across the pit of lava. Then they ran to the doors and were about to open them when they suddenly disappeared.

“I guess this is some kind of illusion,” Ben said.

“Hey, look in the lava pit,” Jack said. In the pit there was a door about twenty feet down from the top, lying horizontally in the air. The smell in the air was worsening rapidly.

“Okay, this is definitely real,” Ben said, “so let’s get jumping.”

He jumped down and landed on the door.

“Now it’s your turn Jack.” Jack bent his legs and jumped but missed the door by a millimeter and flew down towards the lava. Suddenly, a lava geyser appeared and shot Jack back up to the top of the lava pit. Ash filled the room, making it nearly impossible to breath.

“NO!” Ben yelled. Then, using his electric power, he shot back up to the top and ran over to Jack. Ben knelt down and checked Jack’s pulse. He was still alive although he was laying still, his eyes closed, unmoving. In addition, weird fire swirls were running across his skin. “What am I going to do. He needs help, fast!”

Suddenly, an eerie glow rippled through the room. Then, a portal appeared in the wall and out of it shot a figure that almost knocked Ben into the lava pit.

“Sorry, Ben,” Daniel said.

“Daniel!” Ben said. “What happened to you?”

“It involved a lot of cheese with a cheese island and cheese sharks and a cheese man with a cheese poncho.”

“Well, Jack needs our help. He fell into a lava pit but is still alive.” After he said this, Ben stared at Daniel for a whole minute until Daniel coughed into his shoulder.

“Right, right. Well, what are we going to do about Jack?” Ben said, getting back to panicking about Jack.

“Okay, stand back. I got this,” Daniel said. He focused all his anger on the lava pit for hurting Jack and put his hand on Jack. All the swirls immediately disappeared, and Jack sat up.

“Whoa,” Jack said. “What happened?”

“Thanks to a lava pit, you nearly died!” Daniel said.

“Hey Daniel, you’re here!” said Jack. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel. “But now we’ve gotta get out of here. The door down there is the way out, right?”

“Yeah, I certainly hope so, because we went through all this trouble to get to this door!” Jack said with irritation. “Also, I now know what it’s like to be burned. I think the lava is enchanted to burn even me. I haven’t been burned like that since, you know.”

Daniel summoned roots, flowers, and leaves and created a bridge down to the door.

“C’mon,” he said. They walked down into the lava pit and stopped at the door. Jack bent down and opened the door.

“Alright,” Ben said. “Let’s go.” Together they jumped through the door.

 

Deja Vu

As they sat up, they became more aware of their surroundings. They were sitting on a stone bridge, except the stone bridge wasn’t really stone at all. It was half rock, half molten magma, and they had bubbles around them to protect them from the heat and radiation. The bubbles were in the shape of their outlines and seemed to move with them. Not only that, the walkway was floating in space. Black with stars everywhere, in every direction. The infinite expanse of space was so beautiful, it was hard to describe. They could see the Milky Way, and they could see Mercury, Venus, and Earth. And, of course, they could see the infinitely huge sun stretching out before them.

 

Sunspots seemed to stare at them like huge, black, beaded eyes. Arcs of gas leaped up, and settled down again. The gas seemed to envelop them as if it was mist made of fire. They walked towards the sun slowly, in awe, but surely. As they approached the wall of fire that was the sun, the gas pulled back, revealing a tunnel made out of what seemed to be solid gas, like an arc of fire. They stepped into the tunnel, and then the gas wall closed behind them like a door. They walked through the tunnel for what seemed like forever. Then, they approached this pod-like object that was a disk with a semicircle of swirling ice on top.

“I think we’re supposed to jump on it,” said Jack with anticipation.

They held hands and stepped in it. Power surged through them like nothing had ever done before. Arrows made of ice that appeared on the walkway pointed them down the tunnel, and they knew exactly what to do. They ran. Because of the energy, they ran at over 10,000,000,000 miles per hour, speeding along the tunnel so fast they basically flew. The sun’s gas was rushing past them, resisting their speed, but they pressed on. Then, after a few seconds, an invisible force told them to slow down, and they came to a halt at a gateway made of ice, broken in half down the middle. All that energy drained out of them, like water in a spilled cup.

They seemed to be standing in ruins of a castle. There looked to be an invisible bubble of force that made a sphere-shaped hole in the sun, and that hole is where the castle was. Shards of white stone were everywhere. However, the path to the main part of the castle was still intact, with a little bit of chunks floating around it. They walked slowly up the path to the front gates of the castle. An entire half of the castle had been blown apart. They came to a staircase. Liquid nitrogen was foaming and dripping from two bowls, one on each side of the door. They walked down the spiral staircase, so deep in the castle that it was very cold, and they could feel ice-cold power trying to take over the heat that was the sun. They emerged in a room that was completely blown up. It was supposed to be a smooth field of ice, with walls surrounding it and a ceiling on top. However, instead the walls and the ceiling were completely blown apart, and where they were supposed to be were holes looking out at the sphere of gas that surrounded the castle. The only thing intact was the floor, but it was covered in rubble.

“Wait,” Ben said. “Look at that, in the center of the room.” They gathered around a circle carved into the field, with a mini circle at the center. Both of the circles’ outlines were glowing. Then, a line appeared, cutting both circles down the middle, and then the mini-circle split apart at that line and out rose a ball of light, so filled with energy and heat that it blinded them for a second. It smelled, emitted, and sounded like pure energy, humming with power. The ground around it was black and crackling with energy.

Then, light from the ball poured into Jack, making his hair turn red and blaze with heat and fire. His pupils in his eyes turned into little fireballs, and his entire body seemed to be emitting smoke. Light from the ball then poured into Ben. His hair turned blue and coursed with electricity. That electricity ran down his entire body and into his hands which sizzled with power. When the light finally poured into Daniel, his hair turned the color of wheat, with strands of hair turning into leaves. Markings like vines engraved themselves into his arms, neck, and legs, and a wave of dim light burst from him, healing injuries, and making everyone feel wonderful. They all knew instantly what this was.

“The Eternal Flame,” said Jack with awe.

 

A Cold-Hearted Reunion

Then, something else came out of the circle hole. A white wisp, almost like a ghost. Then, the white wisp landed on the ground. It swirled around and around, and then it began to change. It grew and shaped itself into a human shape and solidified into a woman with icicles for hair, a scythe on her back, and a long robe on her body. Chloe.

“AFTER THEM!” she screamed. Then, the ground shook, and thousands of wisps exploded out of the hole, solidifying into Icers, their teeth bared, their staffs swirling. Jack, Ben, and Daniel ran back all the way to the entrance in the field and stood there, facing the impossibly huge army.

“Now I remember,” said Jack to his friends. “This is the castle of that ice spirit we fought last year.”

“You dare try to steal the core of the sun,” said Chloe.

“Oh, so that’s what that was, besides being the Eternal Flame,” said Daniel in realization.

“This is vengeance for the last time we met. Icers, ATTACK!” Chloe yelled, waving her scythe like a maniac.

Jack jumped up 30 feet in the air and summoned an incredible amount of fire. He then blasted that fire in a wave of heat that vaporized at least five hundred Icers, shrieking as they faded into puddles. Ben raised his hands to the sky and summoned a very powerful lightning bolt that struck him. His hands sizzled, and he sped in the air towards the enemy and blasted them with electricity from his hands, cracking with heat and static as they pounded their targets. Daniel summoned a storm of leaves as sharp as daggers and pushed them telepathically towards the enemies. Then, he ran towards another group of Icers, raised his hands, and summoned vines that wrapped around all the remaining Icers, and around him. He drained their energy the way a tree drains nutrients. All the Icers were now melted water, or piles of snow.

 

“Your turn,” Jack said to Chloe with glee. Chloe screamed in rage, leaped up, swung her scythe above her head, and smashed it down. Ice power hit the three fighters, and they flew backward, their bodies smashing into the ground when they landed. Chloe then summoned a small ice and snow tornado, and sent it flying towards Jack.

 

The snow swirled around Jack for a second and then quickly dissipated, evaporated by his fire. Jack summoned a fireball that grew bigger and bigger in his hands. Heat rippled around him like water flowing. Ben stood up and started waving his hands majestically. Electricity arced between his fingertips, trying to escape. Meanwhile, Daniel breathed in and out heavily, and green energy flowed peacefully out of his mouth in tentacles towards Chloe. As they grew closer to her, they solidified into branches and wrapped around her body, tying her to the floor. Suddenly, a lightning bolt came from what seemed like nowhere and struck Ben’s hands. His fists were completely enveloped in electricity as he jumped up, swung his fists back behind his head, and crashed down towards Chloe.

The sound was unbearable, and the smell of ozone filled the air. Chloe was thrown back, her body rippling with electricity and her cloak flew around her. There was now a small circle of charred ground where she lay. Then, Jack threw the fire ball at Chloe. The whole world was on fire as Chloe screamed and the fireball exploded.

When the dust cleared, Chloe was gone. In her place was a divot in the ground, and in the center, was a man.

 

140 Miles to You (Excerpt)

     

Chapter One: The Blood Test

“This is not how I would like to spend my weekend.” That’s exactly how my best friend,

Isabel Cheston was feeling. Sitting in the doctor’s office one Saturday morning. She actually wasn’t really sitting. She was pacing the large white room while freaking out about her blood test. I could see why — she was getting four vials of blood drawn! Her hands were sweaty and clammy from her worrying. Her short brown hair tangled and knotted from her pulling.

“You’ll be fine, I promise” I said. “They just want to make sure your blood is healthy.”

“That really makes me feel better, Kosette!” Isabel snapped.

Surprised by her icy tone I paused. “At least I’m coming with you on a Saturday. Give me that much!” When Isabel didn’t respond I added, “Your mom is taking a long time parking the car.”

She glanced at me, but before she could respond the doctor opened the door. “Isabel, you may come on back.”

Isabel looked back at me and mouthed “Thank you.” She turned toward the doctor. “Can my friend come back with me?”

The doctor hesitated and looked like she was about to say yes. Then she thought better of it and said to Isabel “How about your friend stays in the waiting room, and you can see her when you come out. You’ll be done in no time and besides, your mom is coming up. See there she is!”

Isabel slowly nodded, her face crumpling up like she was about to cry.

Suddenly, Isabel’s mom hurried in. “I’m sorry I’m late Dr. Blakeman. The parking lot — it’s insanely full!”

“It always is” he agreed. “Isabel, can we come back now that your mom is here?”

Isabel nodded. The doctor took Isabel’s bony shoulders and guided her to the back rooms. Her mom following behind.

“You will do great!” I called. “I will be here when you are done!” I sat back down and sighed. I grabbed a Sports Illustrated magazine but my eyes weren’t reading the words. I couldn’t focus. Isabel’s blood was fine, wasn’t it?

 

A week later I was with Isabel in her backyard. The Florida air playing with our hair. Isabel had emerged from the back of the doctor office last Sunday acting fine. My worries had left… somewhat.

I still couldn’t shake the last few months out of my head. All the times Isabel had seemed okay, but then suddenly not okay.

One time that really worried me was when we were at Daytona Beach together. We were boogie boarding as we always did when we went to the beach. She suddenly looked up and said

“I’m tired, I need a break.”

“What about a few more waves? Then we can take a break and recharge.”

Usually Isabel was as active as me, preferring soccer and basketball to reading and writing. So I was pretty surprised when she strongly replied “No my knees are really hurting. I NEED to stop.”

“Fine” I agreed. “We can hit the ground running this afternoon. Sorry you are not feeling well.”

 

And now we were here. Sitting outside her house braiding each other’s hair. This was also a break from yet another fun activity, soccer.

And yeah, Isabel had been the one to ask for it.

Suddenly her mom ran outside and hurried over to Isabel. I expected her to yell that Isabel and I had left the ball in the street. Despite there being barely any cars on the road. She just looked at the ball without really seeing it.

“Isabel come with me.” Isabel stopped braiding my long brown hair and followed her mom back into the house. She turned around and shrugged as if saying she didn’t know what was going on.

I automatically followed Isabel. Her mom turned and said to me “It would be best if you could just stay here, alright? I need to talk to Isabel about a few things.”

I nodded but of course, being the nosy nine-year-old girl that I was. I had to know what was wrong. As soon as Isabel and her mom disappeared into the house I silently crept to the sliding glass door to listen.

“How?!” Isabel’s response was high-pitched. She always got like that when she didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t either. My heart pounded so hard I thought both of them would hear it. I wanted to stop listening. I couldn’t tear myself from the door. I heard Isabel’s mom reply. Her voice sounded muffled, as if I was underwater. I tried desperately to piece together what I was hearing and only grasped this: Isabel’s blood test from last week came out positive for some type of cancer. She needed the right blood. She needed to go to the hospital to get the wrong blood removed from her system.

 

I slid the door open a crack. I could now hear clearly.

“Isabel it’s called leukemia” Isabel’s mom said slowly.

“What’s that?” Isabel asked. “I don’t understand!”

“Imagine you put gas into a car” Isabel’s mom explained.

“The gas does not react well in the car. It’s the wrong gas. The car becomes sick. The car has to go to the automotive shop to get the right gas put into it. Then the car becomes healed. You have to do the same.”

The doctors will put the right blood into your body. And you’ll get better.”

“When do we leave?” Isabel’s voice cracked like it was on the verge of breaking. When her mom didn’t respond Isabel asked again. “When? When?!”

My heart felt like it would break out of its cage. I anxiously raked my hands down my hair. My fingers running along each strand.

“That’s the thing, Isabel, we have to start treatment quickly,” her mom responded after a long pause. “We leave for the hospital tomorrow.”

 

If Only

Long ago, when people didn’t destroy the Earth and people were the Earth, there were two. The water belonged to the Goddess, and the land belonged to the God. The Goddess and the God were in a relationship of sorts, as they worked together and around each other. But that was all they could do, because the land and the water were separate. They longed for each other. Every morning, the Goddess would bathe in the water and greet her aquatic friends. They looked up to her. Her, in her green, grassy-skinned glory. She was different from them, and powerful. The Goddess looked across the world to the land and to the God. The God, whose long beard reached his toes and beyond, met her gaze easily. His skin was different from hers. It was smoother and rosier. His beard was different from anything she had seen in the water, too. Cherries and fruits and leaves were growing from it, and the Goddess wanted nothing more than to reach out and be able to hold it in her hands. To pick the cherries and the fruits and the leaves and eat them, adorn her meals with them, cherish them. She wanted him. His smile was shy and tentative, but it was there, and the Goddess smiled back like she would with any of her friends in the water. The God turned around to talk to one of his own friends in the land, and the Goddess looked down, content with the interaction. She continued with her day, and he continued with his, and it went on like that for years. They would meet eye contact, smile, and then look away.

One day, the Goddess decided she wanted more. More than just seeing a smile, but instead holding the smile closer to her, in her hands. She called out to the God. He looked back, shocked. They had never dared to talk to each other. Nobody would dare to talk between worlds. But he responded.

“I want to meet you,” the Goddess said.

“We’ve already met.”

“I want to feel you.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t allowed. Not in this lifetime,” the God said after a pause, and he frowned.

“But why isn’t it allowed? What are we scared of?” the Goddess said, her voice liquid hope. Everyone was staring at them now. All of the Goddess’ aquatic friends, and all of the God’s woodland creatures. They all looked at the God and the Goddess as if they were insane. No one had ever even thought to break the unspoken rules, and no one had ever even thought that the leaders would think of doing so themselves. “We could be happy together.”
“We could get banished.” His eyes were skipping around her, looking everywhere except her.

The Goddess looked at him, hurt. She couldn’t believe her ears. After all this time — she thought that the God wanted her just as much as she wanted him. She would be willing to throw everything away for him, why didn’t he feel the same. The God looked up at her again, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes crowded by a cloud of confusion. The Goddess reached her arm out, across the world, trying to grab onto the God. There were gasps all around: that was never done before! The God didn’t move back, but he didn’t move closer either. The Goddess was getting closer to him, closer, closer, closer… Her arm was thin and cracking from the stretch, like elastic in freezing temperatures, and she knew she couldn’t go much further. But she was so close… Suddenly, the God stretched his arm out too and easily clutched onto the Goddess’s grass covered arm. Light beamed from the interlapse, and again, the crowd gasped. The God pulled at the Goddess, and the Goddess pulled at the God, bringing the two worlds closer. The light was growing in size and in power, until finally, the two worlds connected, and the God fell into the Goddess’s arms, and the Goddess fell into the God’s arms. The light between them grew and grew until it took over both of their visions, and all of the visions of the aquatic friends and woodland creatures. Abruptly, the light fizzled out, and the God and Goddess were one, as were the water and the land. The woodland creatures walked around and looked curiously at the aquatic friends, and the aquatic friends reciprocated those stares. The God and the Goddess were together from that point on, and they couldn’t be happier. The one catch was that now there wasn’t a God or Goddess to look over the aquatic friends or the woodland creatures. They were on their own, and the Goddess thought to herself that they’d be just fine. She knows them, and the God knows them, and they both know that none of their own beings could ever be cruel.

If only they could see what the world they created has become today.

 

Tunnel Vision

I was walking along the streets of Georgetown with my friends Jason and Barry, watching the filming of the new Wonder Woman movie. The busy street was filled with all sorts of 80’s cars, and there were cameras everywhere. There was even a movie theater that pretended they were playing 80’s movies like Gremlins.

All of a sudden, I saw a tunnel that looked like a secret passageway. It looked like one of those old dead-end alleyways. I immediately nudged Jason and Barry. We originally thought it was part of the filming, but then we saw it was past the end of the film crew’s roadblocks and looked deserted. There was a door at the end of the tunnel, painted all black, even down to the doorknob. The door itself blended into the tunnel, and we pulled towards it, deciding to check out what was inside. As soon as we were inside, the door slammed shut behind us.

I threw my shoulder against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. We were trapped. I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother’s number, but I didn’t have a signal. I couldn’t see a wall behind me, so I started walking away from the door. After a few steps, I found three tunnels. The first tunnel had a sign on it that said DO, the second tunnel had a sign that said NOT, and the third had a sign that said ENTER. That couldn’t be good.

“Well, this sucks,” Jason sighed loudly.

“The door didn’t move, and I can’t get signal. Why not try a tunnel?” I asked.

Despite suggesting it, I had no idea what tunnel to go through.

Barry then suggested, “How about we split up? If one of us finds the right tunnel, we can all meet up and get out that way.”

I stopped pacing, smiling in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? We can’t do that. What if one of the tunnels goes to a maze or something? We could get lost.”

Jason said, ”Sticking together is definitely the right option.”

Barry then said, “I still think we should split up. More tunnels, less time.”

Jason replied with, “Why in the world should we split up”

“You all want to go home, right?” asked Barry sarcastically.

Jason said, “Well, I am not going to split up.”

Barry said, “Fine, stay here and rot if that suits you.”

“I’m just trying to stay alive, to be honest.”

I took a deep breath. “Look. We have an equal chance of picking a wrong tunnel as we do the right one. Let’s just take the first one.”

Jason and Barry, having no better argument, agreed. When we reached the end of the DO tunnel, it was a dead end, the tunnel filled with nothing but dust.

Barry started humming a bass line.

Jason gave Barry an annoyed look. “Is that one Another One Bites the Dust? Seriously?”

I led us back to where we started and then went into the NOT tunnel. At the end of the tunnel was another door that was completely covered in dust but seemed like it had words on it.

Jason looked skeptical. “You guys willing to trust another door?”

Barry shrugged and wiped the dust off. There was something on the door in a weird language. The words, Omissa spe quae ponitur faciatis, were carved at eye-height. We spent a few minutes trying to figure it out, but seeing as none of us could speak Latin, we were stumped. As we began to walk back to the lobby, a man in a dark robe jumped out of the shadows scaring the crap out of us.

We ran around a bend in the tunnel, but when we stopped, we heard him speak, in a dry, rasping voice.

“Stop! I can translate that for you. I know you don’t trust me, but you’ll want to hear what it says.”

We inched back towards the door and saw the man waving us forward. As we walked towards him, he spoke again.

“The writing on this door says Abandon all hope ye who enters here.

When Jason heard that, he said, “Dang that’s freaky. Let’s just go back to the beginning and wait for someone to break us out.”

The man in the robe then said, “Wait! My name is Bernard. I’ve been trapped here for almost a year. Please. If you’re thinking of going through this door, don’t. When I went in, I barely made it out alive.”

Barry then said, “Well if it is our only way out, we have to try it, right?”

I replied with, “I agree, but if going in there equals death, it isn’t worth it.”

Jason said, “Equals death, seriously?”

I said, “Yeah seriously. And Bernard, what happened when you went in there?”

“They attacked me,” he said.

“Who attacked you?” I asked.

“No doubt we should go in. It is pretty much our only way out.” Barry interrupted.

Bernard looked nervous.

“Bernard, will you come with us for a little while?” I asked.

“No, never will I go back there!”

“Please just once,” I pleaded.

“Please?” asked Barry.

Bernard groaned reluctantly, but placed his hand on the old doorknob.

Barry, Jason, and I all looked at each other hopefully.

Bernard opened the door, and we all went in. It was pitch black in there for about ten seconds until a ginormous red light shined on all of us. A voice, deep and menacing, thundered from all around us.

“WHO IS THERE?”

Jason screamed and inched backwards. I shot out a hand to grab him.

“We just got in here, man!” chuckled Barry. “You can’t freak out on us yet.”

 

“Oh, but he can, and probably should” exclaimed Bernard, looking like he was regretting the decision to stay with me.

“Not helping,” I said.

“I ASKED YOU A QUESTION,” the voice boomed.

I was dying on the inside but found some scrap of my voice. “We were just leaving! Do — do you know where the exit is?”

“DON’T LIE TO ME! I CAN SEE BERNARD UNDER THAT HOOD,” the loud voice said.

“How do you know who I am?” Bernard said, his voice even more filled with nerves.

“TAKE THE HOOD OFF,” the voice snarled, sounding different now. “DO IT OR DIE.”

Bernard, faced with no other option, shook as he slowly took his hood down.

He had somewhat long dark brown hair, a small brown beard, brown eyes, was wearing a black sleeveless shirt, and had black pants. He looked rugged and intimidating, like he fit in this underground situation.

“Bernard?” asked Jason, the anger returning, “Something you wanna tell us, buddy?”

Bernard turned slowly and began to speak.

“I know this place. These are my old friends. We came here years ago, but they have been building incredible things for decades. They were made fun of as kids, and when I stuck up for them, I was made fun of. We wanted to take over the world. I realized it was pure evil, and I decided to turn on them. Using their technology, they stopped me. They brainwashed me. I’ve been under their control for almost a year and just escaped.”

“Sounds like they’re great buddies,” spat Jason.

Barry had the courage to laugh. “Hey, you know? You go out for a round of spelunking with your pals and get brainwashed and trapped trying to stop them from world domination. Sounds like a great Tuesday, am I right?”

“We can help, Bernard. Do you want us to help you kick their butts?” I asked, looking at Bernard, who looked pitiful.

“No, go now and get help. There’s a key under the mat at the end of the ENTER tunnel.”
“You just thought to tell us this now?!” Jason exclaimed in disbelief.

“I just remembered now!” Bernard shouted, pointing at his temple. “Brainwashed, remember?”

“Right.”
He slipped his arms out from his sleeves. “Here, take my robe. It’ll keep you concealed.”

I took the robe and thanked him, not wanting to think about Bernard taking on whomever “they” were by himself. We ran back to the second door, all the way back to the entrance, and sprinted down the ENTER tunnel. The key was right where Bernard had promised it would be.

When I left the tunnel, I felt like a vampire in the sun. We were going to go straight to the police, but then realized they would never believe us. I knew though we couldn’t leave Bernard behind. Barry was in on going back to help Bernard before I even said we should. Jason seemed reluctant but ready.

As soon as got to Barry’s house, we slipped into his garage and began making weapons to do whatever we could to help Bernard. I found a metal baseball bat, Barry made Jason a whip out of hot glue sticks and duct tape, Barry made a mace out of a hard foam ball, tacs, tape, the chain of many key chains, and a mini M&M’s bottle as the handle. We also got three baseballs each.

We were ready. Now the only other thing I wanted was a headband and eye black.

Once we finished, we went back to the tunnel. I thought we must have looked like idiots walking through Georgetown with our makeshift war weapons, but Bernard was in trouble. We tip-toed in and peeked at what was going on inside. We saw two strange looking people sitting at a table looking to their right. There was a third person shackled to a chair, and I could only see half of their face, enough to see a thick brown beard. After that, they pulled out some weird looking sci-fi gun type thing.

Then Jason said, “No! That must be the mind washing machine!”

“What do we do?” I asked.

Barry looked at us like we were stupid. “You idiots! We charge!”

He then let loose a scream and charged like a buffalo who had just robbed a candy store, his M&M-handled mace swinging wildly behind him. Jason and I had no choice but to follow. We ran through the door and threw a few baseballs at them. I ran up to the one in the middle and struck. He pulled up a metal pole and blocked it. Barry went and attempted to hit the one on the left with the mace, but the guy dodged it. We all continued to fight as Jason went and freed Bernard. Bernard then grabbed a hammer and was ready to get in the action. I was having an intense one-on-one battle with my guy, and Barry kept trying to hit his guy but kept missing. Right when I was starting to struggle holding mine off, Bernard came in and whacked the guy in the back of the head, making him crumple. Jason ran to help Barry, whipping the guy Barry was fighting in the back. The man saw that his friend was down. He made a break to a table that had tons of their technology on it. I knew we couldn’t let him get the table, so I ran to guard it. When the man got to the table I smacked him in the forehead and realized why Cabrera must love his job. My bat rang off his forehead and was still shaking by the time the other three got to me.

Bernard got chains that were in the room and tied his now unconscious captors up. After that, he led us out. We were covered in dirt and dust, our hair was all messy, we had rips in our clothes, and and my right shoe was ripped. We all tried to make to through the crowd without getting noticed, but everyone wanted pictures of us because they thought we were extras on set. I had completely forgotten that everyone else in Georgetown was having a normal day. We walked to the police station, and we told them they had to come to the tunnels to arrest the psychos and confiscate the weapons and technology. The police went down the tunnels, arrested them, and took the weapons and technology. They then blocked down the tunnels and returned us to our parents.

“Fun day today, right guys?” Jason laughed when we had all taken showers and were watching a movie at his place.

“Now you’ve got the spirit!” Barry laughed. “We should do this more often.”

“Heck yeah!” I exclaimed.

 

The Monster

 

There is a monster inside of me

The monster —

It scares me

It stays in me

Haunts me

Controls me

it takes what it wants

From me

 

It tells me it just wants

a game to play

A game of fun

And sharing

And happiness

And giving

But I know that

That’s not why it came

 

There is a monster inside of me

The monster —

It scares me

Its horrible hands —

they’re strong enough to

Rip the soul

Out of me

 

The monster won’t

set me free

It’s always taking

A piece of me

It tells me

It loves me

But I know

That it doesn’t

The only thing it loves is

What it wants to make me

 

Because

You see

There is a monster inside of me

And the monster —

It is me

 

He Doesn’t Even Have a Name

There was a cool spring breeze brushing up against the park trees. The branches danced with their forest-green leaves. Upon a single great oak, there was a boy. He decided that one of the tree’s limbs would be the best spot to enjoy his novel. After thirty pages, the boy looked up from Moby Dick and saw the sun was close to setting. It was time to leave. The boy stood up, and with a slip of his foot, he fell off the oak. The drop must have been at least fifteen feet. As soon as his back hit the ground, ominous darkness aroused.

The boy woke up in a hospital bed. Two doctors and a nurse were staring right at him. The child said nothing. He searched the eerie room for his foster parents, and they were nowhere to be found. His back hurt, and his head throbbed with pain. The nurse opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of the doctors.

“Do you remember anything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours? What was the last thing you remember?” asked the doctor. The boy tried to remember. He tried to think of the latest events that occurred but could not. He shook his head.

“The last thing I remember is going to the park to read my book,” said the boy. The doctors frowned.

“Do you know your name?” the nurse questioned. The boy nodded.

“Dick,” he answered.

“What about a last name?” asked the second doctor. “We need to file a report for everyone that comes into the ER.” Dick scanned the area again. It didn’t seem like an emergency room at all.

“I have never had a last name. Being completely truthful, I don’t think Dick is my real name either,” Dick confessed. They all seemed shocked, except for Dick.

He doesn’t even have a name, poor boy, thought the nurse.

***

The streets of New York City were cold during September. All Dick owned were sweatshirts and jeans. The school bus pulled up to his town house. Dick’s new foster parents weren’t even awake to see him go off on his first day of high school. Dick didn’t mind, he never expected much from the Torris. They were just like every family the Foster Care system put him in, no matter if they lived in Texas, Arkansas, Virginia, or New York. They never cared for Dick, so he never cared for any them. Dick didn’t know it, but deep down inside him, he felt a longing for family. It was stronger in Texas, where he first lived. But this desire for a family connection died down after he —

“Sorry, this seat is taken.”

“Oh. Alright, sorry to bother you,” Dick replied. He must have said that five more times, before he found an empty seat. Dick gazed out the bus window. He watched as townhouses passed by, but then they turned into buildings, then into skyscrapers. The massive towers hovered over the puny school bus. Dick could feel their cool shadows brushing against his window. Screech! The bus jerked into a full stop. Everyone started to unload and enter Amsterdam High School. Dick pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. He checked his schedule.

First period is math with Mrs. Hether. It’s in room 2037. I have four minutes and 29 seconds until the late bell rings. I should be able to get to class on time, thought Dick. He looked up to find two boys staring across the hallway at a girl. One of them seemed to be drooling. Beauty is an abstract thing that I just don’t understand, Dick thought. He grabbed the railing as he walked up a stairwell. It was cold and rusty. Dick calculated in his head it was made of mostly copper, with a small percentage of zinc and iron. As he was walking, he passed a big clump of people. Everyone in the group seemed to be centered around one person.

“Are you excited for this season, Johnny?”

“Hey, Johnny, are you in any of my classes?”

“Yo, Johnny, do you got a date to HOCO?”

While thinking about Johnny, Dick entered room 2037. Judging by his varsity football jacket, Johnny must be on the football team. He seemed like a popular kid with lots of friends.

“I would like that many friends,” Dick whispered to himself.

“Did you say something?” Mrs. Hether questioned. Dick looked up to meet her gaze and quickly shook his head. “I am Mrs. Hether, and who might you be?”

“My name is Dick,” he answered.

“Oh yes! You are the freshman in my class. I am very impressed with you. This is an honors class for juniors, and you’re taking it as a freshman. You must be a very smart, young man.” Dick forced a smile, but truth be told, he didn’t feel much happiness. Emotion wasn’t very strong in Dick. “Take a seat, class will start soon.” Dick immediately thought she wanted him to take ownership of one of her chairs. After a second of recognition, he normally sat down in the front of the room.

The school day went on, and it didn’t occur to Dick that he was excelling in all his classes. Then, the lunch bell rang, and in the hallway Dick noticed a commotion behind him. He looked back to see Johnny helping a girl pick up her books. At that moment, Dick wanted to be friends with Johnny. Johnny appeared to be a great guy. Dick thought Johnny would be nice enough to not reject him as a friend (like everyone else has). During lunch, Dick found Johnny and all his friends sitting at a table.

Dick approached them and asked, “May I sit here?” The girls looked at each other with disgusted faces. The guys were rolling their eyes and ignoring Dick. Johnny finally broke the silence.

“Get lost, freshman,” Johnny demanded. Dick turned around and walked the other way. He kept his head down and accepted the truth. Nobody wanted to be his friend. Splat! His blue hoodie was ruined by a mash potato cannon ball. Dick kept walking while Johnny and his friends laughed at him. Dick didn’t understand humor or how that was funny. He believed the correct emotion, at the time, was misery. Dick found a quiet corner near room 2037. He ate his lunch there, without any company. He sat in that corner alone during lunch, for the rest of his school year. He never cried though, most likely because he was incapable of such actions.

***

Dick didn’t realize he was excelling in his classes with ease. He has never experienced academic difficulty before. Dick would answer questions the teacher asked and get his papers back with 100 percents. He never tried to show off his intellect. He didn’t think it was a big deal. But in the third week of school, other kids really started to notice.

Mrs. Hether asked the class, “What is the answer to question three?” Naturally, a few kids raised their hands, including Dick. Dick didn’t want to give the answer, but he felt obligated to raise his hand because he had the answer. He already gave Ms. Hether the correct answer to question two. Yet, Ms. Hether chose Dick.

“The answer is 4.39 over pi,” said Dick. Ms. Hether was pleased with his answer. She smiled and wrote 4.39 over pi on the chalkboard. Johnny, on the other hand, was not pleased. After class, Johnny stopped Dick in the hallway. Neither one of them moved. They locked eyes, their toes were a foot apart from each other. Some students stopped walking to see what would happen.

“You’re a freshman taking AP Calculus. We get it, you’re smart. You don’t have to show it off to everybody though!” Johnny growled.

Dick responded, “I only answered three questions.”

“Liar! I’m sick of your $%@&, don’t you ever talk back to me!” Johnny snarled. He pushed Dick onto the floor and walked off. Dick was startled and confused. He didn’t understand what happened. Ms. Hether saw Dick getting up from the floor. She didn’t bother to go near him.

When going home that day, Dick tried to reflect. He knew he was intelligent, but he also knew he still didn’t fully comprehend the world he lived in. He grasped the railing along a staircase. He understood its purpose but didn’t know why some people slide down the railing. It seemed impractical and dangerous. The only reasoning Dick could think of was that it’s “fun.” Dick didn’t know how to define “fun.” He didn’t have much fun in his life either.

“I want to have fun,” Dick said to himself. Hesitantly, he sat on the railing. He scooched along the railing, then began to slide. Bam! Dick fell off the railing and onto the stairs. While he tried to stand up, he tripped and fell down the rest of the stairs.

Dick returned to his foster home that day, with more bruises than intended. His foster parents didn’t pay him much attention. The Torris couldn’t care less if Dick was hurt. They only cared if he needed them to pay for a hospital bill. Dick went into his room and quickly shut the door. He went under his covers and tried to fall asleep. He failed to do so.

***

The bell rang after fourth period. Dick began to make his way to his lunch corner. He scanned the hallway for any potential threats. He saw one. Dick turned and walked in the opposite direction. All of a sudden, Dick was slammed into the wall. He didn’t see Gavin coming. Johnny and Henry walked over to Gavin. They looked down on Dick, as if he were a dead mouse soon to be preyed on by vultures. Johnny cracked his knuckles. Dick looked around, the hallway was empty except for them. This was the last thing Dick wanted.

“Take this smart@$#.” Johnny sent a right jab into Dick’s nose.

“Nerd!” Gavin kicked Dick into the wall.

“Loser!” Henry pushed Dick onto the floor. The three juniors started to kick at Dick’s half-dead body. All Dick could do was lay there. His arms covered his face and his body curled up, in order to protect himself. But it was no good.

“Please stop!” Dick cried. “Leave me alone! I’ve done nothing wrong! PLEASE!” he shouted.

“Shut up, Dick-head!” Johnny ordered. He kicked Dick with enough force to push his back into the wall. Suddenly, Dick’s arms felt immense pain, as if they were sore from over usage.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here. I’m hungry,” Henry said. The boys left Dick alone in the hallway. Then, Dick’s arms felt normal again. He struggled but managed to stand up. Dick went to the nurse’s office for some ice. Dick told the nurse he fell down the stairs. Nobody in Amsterdam High School would believe their beloved quarterback was a school bully. So Dick didn’t bother telling the truth.

Dick was regularly getting bullied now. It seemed almost weekly. Johnny, and maybe a friend or two, would find Dick and verbally and physically harass him. Originally, it was because Johnny was upset about Dick being so smart. Except, after a few times, bullying Dick was just a fun thing for Johnny and his friends. Dick never understood why being smarter was why he was bullied. Dick didn’t want to believe Johnny did it for enjoyment.

The worst part about Dick’s bullies, was that he couldn’t do anything about it. He had no friends to talk to. He didn’t have any trusted adults or anyone that cared about Dick. And it was never a fair fight. He was helpless and, in a way, internally dying.

***

Gym class was also a problem for Dick. He wasn’t very athletic or good at sports. Dick got embarrassed every time he tried to play a sport in PE. The jocks would laugh at him and the other kids would smirk. Dick was always the last pick in team sports. Nobody ever passed him the ball. Dick still tried his best, but he still never played well.

One time after Physical Education, Dick was the last one to leave the locker room. He didn’t mind because it was the last period of the day. When Dick tried to leave, the exit door swung open. Johnny and Gavin barged into the boy’s locker room. Dick tried to run. He just suffered a beating two days ago, so he couldn’t take another. Dick ran into the bathroom. They followed him in and jumped into his stall. Johnny grabbed Dick by his oak-brown hair and thrashed his head into the stall wall. Dick could only see blue for a few seconds, then his vision returned. Gavin slapped Dick across the face, leaving Dick’s cheek bright red. Johnny plunged Dick’s head into the toilet. Dick closed his eyes to avoid (what he thought was) blue liquid, in the toilet. After a few seconds, Johnny yanked Dick out of the toilet water. Dick gasped for air.

“This is why you don’t make me look stupid in class!” Johnny grunted. Dick thought for a second. He recalled correcting Johnny’s answer during science class. The teacher asked for the correct answer, and after Johnny gave his, the teacher asked again. Then, Dick provided the right one.

Gavin dragged Dick back out into the locker room. He held Dick’s arms back in an uncomfortable position, twisting his weak muscles. Johnny sucker-punched Dick in the gut. Dick coughed up a little blood. He was mortified. Johnny hit him with an uppercut, straight up the jaw. An image of a syringe flashed in Dick’s mind. Johnny grabbed Dick’s shoulders. Gavin loosened his grip on Dick. Johnny pulled down Dick’s torso in order to knee Dick in the stomach. More blood. Gavin and Johnny both let go of Dick. He fell to the ground. Dick couldn’t get up. Johnny grinned while Gavin handed him Dick’s backpack. Johnny hurled the book bag at Dick’s motionless body. The impact was painful. He hit Dick in the face, pushing his head back into a locker. This woke Dick up.

“I broke my spine from the fall!” Dick exclaimed. He finally remembered what happened when he fell out of that tree. Johnny looked puzzled. He walked over to Dick and began to swing his foot backwards. Before Johnny could kick Dick, Dick was already off the ground. Pow! Dick landed a punch right in Johnny’s chest. Johnny went flying. He flew all the way into the back wall of the locker room. That wall was ten yards away from Dick. Gavin’s jaw virtually dropped to the floor. Gavin bolted out of the locker room, and so did Johnny. Dick was amazed with this new found strength of his. “Where did this come from?” Dick asked himself. He turned to the wall of lockers behind him. Dick stepped forward with his left foot. He then pushed off his right foot, pivoted on his left foot, and punched a locker. His fist went through the locker door. When Dick pulled back his hand, the door came with it. Dick almost screamed with excitement.

***

The next day, Dick didn’t run into Johnny or any of his friends. In PE, the class had to play basketball. The teacher picked team captains, and customarily Dick was drafted last. Dick’s team was playing Henry’s team. Henry knew about what Dick did to Johnny and didn’t believe it. Johnny did look hurt, and that was what drove Henry in the game. Henry would purposefully dribble near Dick and try to embarrass Dick by exposing his awful defense skills. Eventually, Dick was given the ball. Henry ran across the court to personally guard Dick. That was a mistake. Dick dribbled up to the basket, and using all the strength in his legs, he sprung up five feet to slam dunk the basketball. Dick hung onto the rim for a few seconds then dropped back down. The entire gym was silent. Everyone was in shock. Dick didn’t know what to do, so he too stood there motionless and speechless. Suddenly, the bell rang, and everyone went into the locker rooms. Nobody could speak, but their mouths were still wide open.

The next morning, Dick couldn’t get into room 2037. Johnny, Gavin, Henry, and two other upperclassmen blocked Dick’s way. As usual, there weren’t any people in the hallway. Johnny appeared madder than ever.

“Don’t you dare think you’re better than any of us, you freshman %&#@!” Johnny threatened. The two unknown students stepped forward. Dick knew there was going to be a fight, and he was ready for it. Before they could even swing their arms, Dick sent two right hooks their way. The boys flew back, unconscious. Gavin couldn’t move. He was in shock. He just stared at the unconscious bodies. Henry charged at Dick and tried to tackle him. Dick parried with a body throw. Henry was then also unconscious, but thirty feet down the hallway.

It was just Johnny left. Johnny cracked his knuckles. Dick wasn’t afraid. Dick took a step forward. Johnny threw a punch at Dick, but Dick dodged it. Dick performed a roundhouse kick, but Johnny ducked. While Johnny bounced back up, Dick kicked him in the side. Johnny fell, crying in pain. Dick most likely broke one of Johnny’s ribs.

The hallway quickly became quiet and ominous. Dick felt as if the fight wasn’t over. Except, he didn’t know of any other enemies. He looked around the hallway and found it odd that he didn’t see anyone.

Maybe everyone is in class. I should probably go to first period then, thought Dick. Dick walked by the unconscious bodies of his bullies, his conquered fears. He opened the door to Mrs. Hether’s room. A bright light turned on, blinding Dick. He heard SWAT soldiers surrounding him, yelling formation orders. Three red dots appeared on Dick’s chest. “What’s going on?” Dick yelled. He began to regain his vision.

“GOV test subject 02SHS-A is active! Confirmed bodies outside the room. Causation from 02SHS-A!” shouted a SWAT soldier. Dick was very confused and started to get scared. Then, a radio signal came in.

“Go green, neutralize target over!” The red dots on Dick’s chest turned green. Before he could flinch, Dick was shot dead.

 

The Warehouse (Excerpt)

          

Chapter One

 

The water was red. That wasn’t good… at all.

 

I tried to crawl faster, my limbs sinking into the muck on the side of the now strawberry-colored creek and coming up with loud sucking sounds that would definitely alert any guards to my presence. Lucky for me, there probably weren’t any guards in the area. In fact, there was probably no one at all.

 

The bog, a wide, flat plain full of deep mud pits and criss crossing creeks, was the last place anyone would consider using to get into the Warehouse. It was so open that it was assumed that anyone who approached would be spotted from a mile away, and it was considered suicidal to set foot anywhere near where I was now crawling.

 

And that was where they had been wrong. Or at least I hoped so, since my life depended on it. Covered in mud and crouched low against the marshy ground, I looked just like any other bump on the large, flat expanse. The sun beat down on the bog, drying and cracking the mud on my limbs and face as I scanned the landscape yet again. I couldn’t see or hear anyone around me, and the behemoth Warehouse was slowly coming into detail before my eyes. There was nowhere to run, nowhere I could hide if they spotted me. I certainly hoped they were wrong.

 

Aptly nicknamed “the Warehouse” by the citizens of Hilliche, the structure in front of me was a massive, flat-roofed building with a broad, brick chimney rising sky-high from its center. The Warehouse was an infamous prison dedicated to holding rebels and thieves prior to execution. And while it had never been mentioned directly by the King or any of his advisors, it was commonly assumed that it was also used for the executions themselves.

 

I knew this to be true of course; this was far from my first time coming this way to rescue someone or another. This time, my mission was to walk in and then walk back out a few hours later with a certain Master Matthew Dowell, for whose return I was being paid more than I normally made in a year.

 

Was that fishy? Sure. But for an orphaned 17-year-old girl living alone in the slums of Hilliche, the capital city of this god-forsaken country, money is money, no matter how it comes about.

 

Of course, that wasn’t why I started risking my life like this. In the beginning, it was more about a personal vendetta, about how my father was brought to the Warehouse and killed for a crime I knew he didn’t commit. That time, at age 14, I had been too late to save him. I had never disappointed since.

 

Although, I might lose my streak if I didn’t hurry. Darkness fell across my face as I entered the shadow of the factory, and I glanced worriedly at the creek on my left, the one that passed under the Warehouse. The light strawberry pink of the water had already turned to a brighter red. Executions were well under way.

 

I crawled a few meters further into shadow and then glanced at the creek again. It was here that it turned muddy — and bloody — enough that it was impossible to see all the way to the bottom. And it was here that I had found my way in. I edged towards the creek, my arms sinking ever further into the mud as I got closer until I could move no more. Then, I threw as much of my body as wasn’t stuck in the ground towards the rushing water.

 

The mud slowly gave way, tilting me closer to the creek. I tilted faster and faster until it let go entirely with a grotesque squelching noise, and I landed with a splash. A hidden current quickly dragged me under the surface of the murky water, pushing me back the way I had come as it ripped at my hair and clothing with icy fingers. I didn’t try to fight it like I did the first time this happened to me, when on the way to rescue my father I had fallen in by accident and panicked as I was dragged down into the murky depths.

 

It all happened much faster if I didn’t move. Tumbling head over heel, the current dropped me into the mouth of an underground passageway which was a little ways back from where I had jumped into the creek. While it did mean that I had to make some ground back up, I knew of no other place where I could find the same current and really wasn’t all that keen on experimenting, with my life at stake.

 

Looking around for a second, I regained my bearings. Lit by faint blue light from curiously mushroomy fungi which crowded the walls, this was an abandoned and partially collapsed tunnel which remained from the building of the Warehouse. It was so remote that I very rarely found a guard down here. If I did, the wet mud and blood from the water which coated me would make me look like a rock if I dropped to the ground in the shadows and no one looked too hard.

 

Muscle memory led me into familiar passages and around piles of rubble until I reached the neat X that I had scraped into the wall years ago. Reaching for the narrow, mud covered opening between two large rocks, I began to slide my way across.

 

I was a thin girl, but I still had trouble making it through that tight space, and little scars on my legs and arms showed the evidence of what usually happened when I squeezed through. The inhabitants of the Warehouse were usually starving by the time they were rescued, having been kept here for weeks. That’s how they fit through the gap on the way back and the only reason that I could get anyone out at all.

 

“ — disappearing. They don’t know how… investigate… ” Voices drifted down the rocky corridor on the other side with me halfway through the gap. I froze and went limp, muddy hair tumbling over my head and away from the nape of my neck.

 

Footsteps approached as the voices got clearer. “Well, I dunno. There ain’t any way in here, not from so deep underground.”

 

“We should check the upper levels, don’t know why anyone would think there was a way in so far down.”

 

“Busy work, that’s all this is. I don’t know why they… ” The voices trailed off down the corridor, and I waited a minute before lifting my head. It seemed from their conversation that the absences of the people I rescued hadn’t gone unnoticed.

 

In the beginning, I had come after less important prisoners who had been taken from families around the slums where I lived and had charged only small, affordable fees. Stuff that could be paid for by the poor such as myself. About a year ago, my services came to the attention of some more… wealthy figures. For the higher rates, I rescued more important prisoners.

 

My problem was this: if a minor prisoner disappears in a large prison, it causes a little ripple, soon forgotten. A major prisoner though, one who is kept under careful lock and key… that usually causes a bit more of a splash. And splashes are noisy enough to attract unwanted attention. After this, maybe I should lay low for a while, let things settle.

 

Goodness knew, I was certainly being paid enough money from this job to afford it. Hell, I could buy a new house on the edge of the slums, maybe try to find a respectable job as a store clerk or something. Whatever worked; it was best not to think too much about the future. First things first, I had to get out of here alive with my human package.

 

By now I had managed to extricate myself from the crack in the wall and was crouched in one of the shadows left by the torchlight. This hallway was part of the actual Warehouse complex itself, with walls of stone brick and a sandy floor. The sputtering flame from the torches created leaping shadows across the walls, such as the one which I was now crouched in.

 

I straightened up and winced. Tiny cuts from squeezing through the rock twanged their protest all over my body. For the hundredth time, I wondered if it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to take a battering ram to that crack and knock a hole straight through. It would certainly be the end of these annoying cuts and scars. It would also certainly be the end of my life.

 

I smiled to myself and began working my way down the hallway, drifting from flickering shadow to flickering shadow. The metallic scent of blood and a nauseating smell of burning that permeated the air as I got closer reminded me to hurry. The guards had certainly taken their own sweet time passing by.

 

Luckily, I passed the rest of the way unhindered and emerged on one of many large, unoccupied ledges which overlooked the cavernous room which held the executions. Rough stone walls bounced echoes and a large fire burned in a pit in one corner of the room, making the place a chaos of light and sound. Screaming, pleading, shouted orders, the cracking of whips… all these sounds drifted around me as I stood in the shadows of the ledge. The ledges were originally built for observers, but the Warehouse had long been closed to any of the sick people who enjoyed watching mass murder, and the ledges remained untouched.

 

I glanced at the line of prisoners who shuffled towards the execution blocks below. I was looking for a man in his 20s with brown hair and slumped shoulders. Reaching into my shoe, I pulled out a small, sealed leather case. I opened it and pulled out a scrap of paper which depicted a black and white illustration of his face. I glanced at it one last time, making sure I had his features memorized, then stowed it back in my shoe.

 

He apparently used to be quite overweight, but a month in prison should have fixed that problem nicely. I would probably have to wait for a while; the most important prisoners usually came at the end of the line. I stepped back into a shadowy corner, leaning against the rough stone. I had long realized it was was better to be safe than sorry, so I always arrived with plenty of time to spare.

 

I wondered what Master Dowell had done to end up like this. It wasn’t my job to ask, just to rescue, get paid, and move on. I had been clearly reminded of that by the wealthily clothed man who had met me by a dead-end alleyway to give me this assignment. I was instructed to get Master Dowell out, leave him in the alley, and never breathe a word about it. If I did that, I would get paid. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t. It was that simple. But again, this man who I was rescuing was most certainly someone of importance if he was worth so much money. So I couldn’t help but wonder…

 

My eyes drifted to the three execution blocks, to the methodical chopping of the axe as it swung up and down, each starving prisoner being forced to their knees by armed guards. I watched as the next prisoner was pushed from the line, sulking silently. She ascended the block and was pushed to her knees so hard that she cried out. Her head was locked into place by a lone guard, and the axe reached a shining apex. Then, her head rolled forward across the platform with a nearly inaudible thud, dead eyes still staring defiantly at the ceiling up above.

 

Blood spilled across a sandy floor which was already red and sticky with it. The creek which I had followed on the way in ran somewhere under this room, and I knew that the blood would eventually soak through the sand on the floor to mix with the water, emerging under the late afternoon sky.

 

Three guards came forward, hefting the severed head and body into the fire in the corner and releasing another wave of the nauseating scent of burnt skin. I heard a whip crack as the next prisoner in line was forced forward.

 

I had witnessed this same process at least once a month for the last two years, so I knew all of the different reactions that people expressed before death. Some kept their heads held high like the last woman, some gave speeches that would never be heard, others just cried for mercy such as the old man currently on the block.

 

My father hadn’t cried, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t acted defiant before he died as I stood watching, helpless, from this same ledge. He had smiled. Smiled with some sort of private victory of which I would never know, as if he had won somehow, even in death.

 

Tears sprung to my eyes, and I blinked them back angrily, forcing my mind away from him and back toward the situation below me. The next round of prisoners was entering, and it was nearing the end of executions for the day. I recalled the precise descriptions given to me by the wealthy man in the alley and looked over the prisoners below. There were only about thirty of them, none matching the description I had been given. How important was this man? Had I somehow missed him?

 

The next round was the second to last, then the last, then the final execution. If he was the final execution, there was no way I could get him out. It would be hard enough already with this few prisoners. I really should have asked for more money. Sighing, I re-tied my matted hair and hoped for the best, glancing back at the ground below.

 

My heart nearly stopped, and I mouthed every curse word I knew — which was quite a few of them — in violent succession as I spied the prisoner who was being forced up to the middle block. What. The. Hell. Why the hell was there a child here?

 

A small, brown-haired boy was being escorted up the steps with the help of a metal rod shoved into his back. He was very young, seemingly under ten years old and thin-faced with hunger and sadness. He stared at the scene around him with wide, terrified eyes. The guard poked him harder as he stalled on his way up. He took another step and tripped on the stair, scraping his knee with a wail loud enough that I could hear it clearly from up on the ledge.

 

I stood there, feeling vaguely sick as I realized that no matter what I cursed, he was going to die, and I was going to have to stand here watching. I knew that as soon as I spotted him, knew it as I watched his head be forced onto the block, and knew it as I watched the last spark of life leave his eyes.

 

Feeling something run down my chin, I realized that I was biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I wiped my hand absentmindedly across my face, still watching the scene below until the boy’s body vanished into the fire and the next person stepped up to the platform, babbling something I couldn’t hear. I took a step back towards the shadows, trying to shake off the shock. I would wonder what a boy was doing here later. Right now I would just have to wait.

 

As the last of the prisoners in this round were walked up to the blocks, I focused on my plan. When I saw Master Dowell, I would climb down from the ledge onto the ground fifteen feet below, keeping to the shadows. Hiding in the small crevasse at the base of the ledge, I would catch his eye and beckon him silently.

 

Upon him coming close enough, I could knock him out with a rock which I kept in my pocket, and we would look like no more than an outcropping in the shadows until executions finished and all that remained were night guards. By that time, he should be awake, and we could climb back the way I had come, dodging guards until we reached the surface of the creek where we had a three kilometer trek back to civilization. However painfully slow it could be to return with a starving prisoner, it was worth the feeling of counting bills when I got back. The plan was flawless. I had it down to a science.

 

The next batch of prisoners was being herded out, only about fifteen of them this time. Fourteen heads of greasy blond hair and one of greasy brown. Hidden somewhat behind the rest. I could only see the top of his head, but as he glanced towards the execution blocks for a second, I got a quick glimpse of his face, enough for me to be sure it was him.

 

I pulled off my thin leather shoes and hopped over the rusty railing, climbing down the shadowy face of the rock. I moved with a practiced ease, fingers and toes automatically reaching for the same bumps and cracks in the rock until I was close enough to jump down into the shadowy dip at the bottom of the wall.

 

Matthew Dowell was still behind the others as the guards had not yet succeeded at herding them into a line, so I couldn’t see him clearly. His face swung in my direction nonetheless, and I shifted slightly, catching his attention. Beckoning, I smiled at him sweetly. While not necessary, I found that the smile sped things up, made the person more likely to trust and come towards me.

 

The will to survive always came out in the end, and not one person who I had beckoned before hadn’t taken the chance. I had watched starving prisoners go to incredible lengths with strength they shouldn’t have even had, just to save their own skins. Dowell was no exception. He came forward slightly as the prisoners were finally whipped into line, and my heart skipped a beat as I noticed a small detail that was revealed as the rest of him emerged into my line of sight. He was fat.

 

How… ? That first word shaped itself in my brain, and the thought stalled there. He should’ve been starved before he came out here, they all were. And he wasn’t just fat, he was massive, sporting rolls of blubber that stuck out from under his clothing and rippled when he moved. There were a lot of problems with that. He wouldn’t be able to climb up the wall, dodge guards, fit through the stone crack, or swim up the creek. Even a will to survive didn’t go quite that far. The entire rescue operation depended on being thin, and he, as an understatement, was not.

 

I realized that I had been staring absently at the bloody sand by the side of the execution blocks. I looked back up, wondering how to get out of this, but it seemed that Dowell had already lost interest. His blubbery face was turned in the other direction, watching something that I couldn’t make out. That was odd, but good: I was getting out of here. If I tried to rescue him, I was good as dead and wouldn’t get paid, and if I left now, I still wouldn’t get paid. Best to at least escape with my life.

 

I was about to turn and climb back up the wall when a movement caught my eye. A guard was cautiously advancing toward me from the left, a knife that dripped with something black — probably poison — held in his hand. And another one came from the right bearing the same weapon. I froze, still crouched enough to look like a rock. It was then that I noticed Dowell’s hand, a fat finger pointed towards me.

 

Damn. For two reasons. Damn because it was a trap, and a good one too. And more importantly, damn because I was dead. Running was useless, and I couldn’t climb fast enough. My head shot to the right just in time to see the guard throw his knife. I watched it flash as it arched through the air for just a second and swayed left in a futile attempt to avoid it. I felt a sting as it cut a shallow line on my upper arm, black poison dripping down the cut. That was the last thing I felt before I blacked out.

 

Little Bird

     

The Cove

Its water an incredible, powerful beast

Dormant for years

Warmly welcoming her father’s fishing boat and allowing her to splash in the shallows as a child

Then suddenly awake

Awake

Awake and angry

Filled with the things people toss away

Plastic straws from summer picnics and papers with old news

It swallows all that come near

Swallows them in rising tides

And storms that have no mercy

Its waves, its hands, pound

Against rocks made smooth by weather and time

Wren

Her mother’s little bird

The one her father left behind when he found out

Left in the night in the boat that first caught her mother’s eye

She stands in the surf

Her white dress soaked through

Numb

 

Home

Her home

Its broken glass

And shells and things from the deep

Blown in from the storm

All covered in dust

A fractured nest

Since the storm

The storm that took everything

Family photos and china plates

Patio chairs and hand painted shutters

The storm that broke the glass and tore open the walls

The storm that sucked her mother into its maw

Taking her forever

And then left

Left the little bird by herself, without a mother

 

Alone she walks

The little of what’s left of her red hair

Caught in the cool summer breeze

The dust clinging to her dress

Her dress

Once so perfect

But torn and dirty now

Alone she walks

Through the town miles away from her broken home

The town of stares and whispers and pointed fingers

The town of normalcy and family dinners

Of barbecues and sunny days

The town of friends long gone

Gone, blaming her for her father’s choice

Vilifying her mother for not finding another

She’s learned to ignore it

She wouldn’t come here at all

But even little birds have to eat

 

By the market she sits

Tin can in hand

A tin can found in the wreckage of her home

The clink of people’s spare change her only hope

Relying on the guilt

Of people that call her mad

To them, she is simply a girl who went insane after the storm they barely noticed

 

Walking home

The dirt path again

Stale bread sandwich in hand

Fireflies flicker around her

Dancing in the dark of the twilit forest

Walking up the stairs

That creak and moan and bend

The door

A purple door

A rusted knob

At the table

Where she once sat with her mother braiding her hair

Red hair just like her own

But her eyes are her father’s

As the lights flickered on and off

And a harsh wind rattled the windows

The booming thunder

The crackling lightning

And clouds that can’t decide if they’re blue or gray

Now she sits

By herself

Red hair uneven

Cut by scissors she found in the bathroom

 

Trying to find sleep

On a blanket outside her mother’s door

Sleep doesn’t come

Instead come visions

Visions of running along the cove

With her mother and a faceless man

Visions of family dinners on Sundays

Her parents laughing at a joke she just told

About a pirate’s 80th birthday

And at bedtime

Her parents tell her the story of the wren

The one that wasn’t as strong or as fast as the other birds

But realized it didn’t necessarily need to be

And became king of the birds

But even in her dreams she knows none of it is real

 

Morning

The pale sunlight sneaks through the broken window

And dances upon her head

From the dust she rises

Walking out of the house

Down to the shore

The water calm and shimmering with early morning light

A washed up rowboat bobs gently on the surface

In that moment she makes a decision

Looking back at what was her home

But hasn’t been in months

 

Thinking of the possibilities

Of finding her father

Of joining her mother

She pushed off the shore

And flew away

Over the coral guts of the great beast

 

The Cooling Rack (Excerpt)

Death is not something people take lightly. People die, others mourn them, and then we eventually forget about them.

***

“Hey, Ian! How’s it going? It’s such a nice day outside, right?” A woman’s voice screams through the phone. “Look, man. We’re understaffed today and could use your help in the kitchen. Sorry not sorry, this is mandatory!” The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call.

I look up at the overcast sky, then down at the phone. BOSS LADY reads the caller ID. This woman, Paige, is the owner of the only bakery in town, The Cooling Rack. I happen to be her favorite employee, as I don’t complain when tasked with cleaning or any kitchen-related tasks, even when the orders are given everyday. Paige was never close to her employees, but even though I’ve been one of the longest lasting employees, she’s still so cold. Yet, I have the vague sense that she’s developing some sort of motherly affection for me. Paige is only four years older than me, yet she treats me like a young child, and “children shouldn’t be late to work!” as she is known to say. I sigh, letting my feet mechanically drag me towards the bakery, tripping over the uneven sidewalk and tree roots. The walk is not long, but by the time I arrive at The Cooling Rack, rain has started to fall. The little bells on the glass door announce my entrance into the bakery, and that’s where Paige, a short woman with dyed bright blue hair, bounces up to me and shoves a dark blue apron into my hands.

The Cooling Rack is not big and roomy, but it has a feeling of home. The walls are wooden, and the light is tinted a soft orange, which blends with the fiery hues of fake fireplaces. Black and white photos, ranging in content from leaves blowing in the wind to a woman walking her dog, add a small but noticeable contrast that evens out the excessive warm tones. People of all shapes and sizes pass by, picking up coffee, a snack, or a loaf of bread to bring home to their family. Children sip mugs of hot chocolate while their guardians type on silver laptops, buried in work. It’s a refuge for all, and it would be a shame if it were to close.

“Hey, man! Haven’t seen you since yesterday! Anything fun happen?” A tall man pulls me into a constricting hug against my will. The strong arms belong to my friend, Eli.

I shrug my way out of his grasp. “No, just the usual. Nothing exciting.” I speak quietly, hoping not to get in the way of any of my coworkers. “What’s my job for today?”

“If I remember correctly,” he bends down to my height, “cleaning. Good luck, man!”

With a slap on my shoulder, I make my way to the closet, tying my apron on the way. I pick up a broom and dustpan, find an empty and quiet corner of the kitchen, and start the monotonous task of sweeping burnt bread crumbs off the floor. I hum a tune, in sync with my sweeping, but not in sync with the music already playing softly throughout The Cooling Rack. The sound of an oven beeping joins me in song, but I barely acknowledge it. The quiet jazz playing throughout the store masks the continuous noise from the machine by my waist. The people crammed into the kitchen workspace are all immersed in their work, whether the task was spreading jelly on toast or shaping dough into little bunnies. The quiet beeping remains unnoticed, even when small streams of smoke sneak their way into the air.

“Is something burning?” The woman stirring soup looks over her shoulder and locks eyes with me. “Could you check it out?”

I nod and take a look around the kitchen. Something in the oven I was just standing near is indeed burning, even though there is not enough to set the smoke detectors off. Crouching down, I open the door, and my glasses do little to stop the sudden cloud of smoke that encases my face. The smoke detectors rip through the forgotten music and panicked voices of the employees and customers.

“Get everybody out of here!” Fire seems to be the death for today. Yesterday it was drowning. I wonder what tomorrow will bring. The burst of heat pulls me from my thoughts, and I’m thrown backwards and against the wall as my glasses shatter on the floor. My apron gets caught on a stovetop dial, which turns on the stove at max heat. Fire erupts from the grate beneath my right hand, burning the thin flesh. I yank my hand upwards and out of the fire, only to hit the cupboard above my head with a loud thud, and the metal pots and pans tumble down from the shelves. Each time a pan smacks my body, a painful blood-curdling scream follows. I fall to my knees and land on my the remains of my glasses with a broken cry. The shards tear through the exposed skin, which would only be possible when a person is wearing ripped jeans, as I am. I hold my hand to my mouth, as an instinctive attempt to block out the smoke, but I already knew it was pointless. Looking up into the smoke, the biggest metal pot, the one we never use, glints in the firelight, as if smiling at my inevitable death.

“Oh, dear lord,” I whisper before the impact and everything goes black.

 

Dancer Attack

Addie woke up to a gloomy sky on the biggest day of her life! A college dance instructor was coming all the way from The University of the Arts in Pennsylvania to California where she lived, just to see her dance.

This would determine her whole life. She picked up her phone and called Eliza, her best friend. When she didn’t answer, Addie knew she must have been sleeping.

Addie sighed. Her list on the door reminded her of the grocery shopping she had to do. Her mom used to do all the shopping, that is when she was alive. Her dad always had work meetings and never went shopping. Addie always spent the day at Eliza’s, and it was almost as if Eliza’s mom was her mom too.

Snap out of it, she thought to herself. You hate thinking about how lonely you are.

She changed into her bright red crop top and jean shorts, put on a raincoat that covered up her newly cut chestnut colored hair, and drove to Eliza’s house.

“It’s so early. Why did you have to wake me up?” Eliza groaned.

“Get up, you lazy head. We have to go to auditions,” Addie whispered in her ear to not wake up her brother, Tyler.

“Auditions?” Eliza popped her head up from under the covers. You could see her blue ring to match her hair. She hopped out of bed and threw clothes on. Grabbing her phone, she ran out the door, leaving Addie in the dust.

“I’ll never understand her,” Addie said, yawning midway.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” Eliza yelled from the passenger seat. “We’re gonna be late!”

“You were the one I had to wake up! We also don’t have to be there for another 15 minutes, and we are going to Starbucks,” Addie remarked.

“You know Ms. Ivey hates when we’re late.”

“Who said we were gonna be late?” Addie questioned.

When they got to Stuart Landing Performing Arts Dance Studio, the tall poles in the front stand out from a mile away. They walked over to the makeup stand where the rest of the dance team was getting makeup done.

“What’s up?” Addie yelled.

“The sky!” Casey screamed back. Her bright blonde hair flowed back and shimmered like the sun.

“Hey, guys, where were you?” Beatrix asked. She had her dark hair that was almost black being braided.

“You’re late!” Ms. Ivey interrupted. Her brown eyes flared with anger. “Get your makeup done quickly. We need to rehearse your performance.” Addie and Eliza quickly sat in the closest seats to not make Ms. Ivey angrier. Of course showing up late with Starbucks in your hand would not exactly please Ms. Ivey, but being five minutes later would’ve really set her off.

Once Addie got her makeup done, she went to rehearse. After about an hour, Ms. Ivey called everyone to see her. Addie went to go get her hair flower while Ms. Ivey gave her speech.

 

***

 

“I need you girls to work harder than you ever have, to show the women in the chair what amazing dancers you can be. You have never worked so hard in your life.” Eliza zoned out when she was speaking. Where is Addie? She’s been gone a while, she considered.

“Excuse me, Ms. Ivey, but Addie’s been gone for awhile. Do you mind if I go see what she’s up to,” Eliza blurted out.

“I do not like when people interrupt me, and you know that! I suspect that you probably should go check on her,” Ms. Ivey snapped.

“Thank you.” Eliza walked back to the dressing room but came out screaming.

“Ms. Ivey! Ms. Ivey! Help! Addie’s dead!” she howled.

“What do you mean she’s dead?” she roared. “OH MY GOSH! She was my star! She was the best student I’ve ever had! Our whole show will be ruined.”

“What are we going to do? She’s our star!” Nicole squealed.

“Let me go see for myself!” Ms. Ivey screamed.

“But Addie has her own solo. She was so excited,” Simone hollered. Everyone was yelling at the same time. There was a blur of screams.

“My life is ruined without her!” Eliza squeaked.

“If this is a trick… ” Everyone heard Ms. Ivey starting to yell from behind the two bulking doors. Abruptly, there was silence. Everybody had thought Addie originally pulled a prank, but no one knew why anyone would ruin their costume with fake blood right before a huge show.

 

“Ms. Ivey,” Zoey said.

“What do you want? My star is dead right now,” Ms. Ivey screeched. Her short, dark hair flashed in the light.

“I’ve heard of people killing themselves because of nervousness,” Zoey replied.

“Addie would never do that! She’s way smarter than to do that,” Ms. Ivey returned.

Eliza started to pace, thinking to herself, Phoebe always played with her hair too much which could mean she’s hiding something in it, and she recently has been talking about leaving the dance team, but Annabelle always tried to direct murder tak another way. Plus, neither of them had spoken yet, and it looked like they were avoiding to talk.

“Eliza, you were the one who originally checked on Addie. You would easily have time to take Addie somewhere,” Annabelle pointed out.

“You think I would kill my best friend! Not in a million years. She was basically my sister,” Eliza cried.

“You might’ve, and also you were her understudy in the recital. We all know how badly you wanted to have that solo, but you knew you would have to support your friend,” Annabelle pushed back.

“Why would Addie have been in the dressing room so long? For all we know, you could’ve missed all of Ms. Ivey’s speech just to take her away and come back when I left,” Eliza opposed. Annabelle had never been very nice to Eliza. Why would Annabelle want to blame me for kidnapping Addie. Unless, if she wanted to cover herself.

“Stop fighting! It’s not gonna help if we blame each other, but we know that it was someone in here,” Ms. Ivey bellowed. “Someone still has to show that lady the dance, so get on the stage, Eliza.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eliza ran to her starting position as Ms. Ivey went to go turn on the music. All the girls dashed into the front row of the auditorium. All the doors were locked, so the college dance teacher would feel safe inside.

 

“You were amazing!” Casey cheered once they were in the street.

“Thanks, but knowing how excited Addie was for that performance makes me sick. We need to find her fast,” Eliza aforementioned.

“Agreed, let’s first go get lunch at my house.”

“Speaking of lunch, I’m starving. Let’s go.” They ran to Addie’s car, preparing to drive it back to her house and get Eliza’s car. They went up to Casey’s room after lunch.

“We need to find Addie now and get to work.”

“Agreed.” As they laid on the bed, they made a list of suspects.

“It’s either Beatrix, Annabelle, Zoey, Pheobe, Nicole, or Simone, but I’m gonna bet it’s Annabelle because of how she accused me of doing it.”

“You know Annabelle, and she always tries to get on your nerves.”

“So? She was trying to make herself not a suspect by blaming other people.”

“Keep in mind it could’ve been a group of people,” Casey reflected.

“I don’t think so. Nicole was last out of the room, but anyone could’ve snuck back in while Ms. Ivey was giving her speech. That makes me think that it could be Beatrix because she tends to get distracted easily.”

“That’s like saying it was me. We were talking during Ms. Ivey’s speech, so you are positive it wasn’t me. Just like I’m positive it wasn’t Beatrix. She’s way too kind to kill someone even if she secretly hated them.”

“I think we should go back to look for clues.” As they walked to the dance studio, there were police cars everywhere. They walked up to the gigantic wooden doors.

“No publicitors in the building,” the police officer said to them.

“We were friends of Addie,” Eliza said while trying to push through to go inside.

“I’m sorry, ladies. This is a crime scene.” The girls headed back to Casey’s house.

“How could we possibly figure out who murdered Addie if we can’t get into the crime scene?” Eliza questioned.

“I don’t know, but why do we actually need the scene? We can start questioning people.”

“We could just let the police do it. They have all the tools they need to find the killer.”

“Are you trying to go off of the case? Addie was both of our best friends. We can’t just let her go. We should interview the dance team. ”

“You’re right. Let’s go interview. First, Annabelle.”

“Of course she’s your first suspect,” Casey sighed. They headed over to Annabelle’s house, and Annabelle’s mom opened the door. Annabelle’s mom’s dirty blonde hair shimmered in the sun.

“Hello, sweeties. Annabelle is in her room if you were coming by to see her,” Annabelle’s mom answered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gidmon,” Eliza and Casey exclaimed together. When they stepped in the house, it smelled like lavender. They bounced up the stairs and knocked on the door that had save the animals posters.

“Who is it?” Annabelle called from inside.

“Eliza and Casey,” Casey yelled.

“Why did you tell her I was here? Now she’ll never let us in,” Eliza whispered.

“Casey can come in, but not Eliza,” Annabelle hollered. Casey flung the door open, and they both stepped inside the bright yellow room with streamers hanging everywhere.

“Can’t you hear Eliza? You’re not permitted in here,” Annabelle yawned mid sentence.

“It looks like a yellow neon highlighter exploded in here,” Eliza commented.

“Why are you here anyway? It’s not like you would actually want to hang out,” Annabelle replied.

“We came here to talk to you about the murder of Addie Dunakin,” Casey said proudly.

“You really think I did it. I mean sure, I hate her, but I wouldn’t kill her. Plus, it was clearly Eliza.”

“Stop trying to blame me! I would never even hurt my best friend.”

“Then why does every clue point to you?”

“That isn’t true.”

“Stop arguing!” Casey cried out. “Annabelle, what did Ms. Ivey say in her speech?”

“She was talking about how we all need to show respect in front of the college teacher. Also, we need to be nice to Addie if she doesn’t make it, congratulate her if she does make it, and help her not feel as nervous because this dance is her whole future, and blah blah blah, all about Addie. Then, she started telling us about how we have to be quiet during the show, but Eliza decided to interrupt.”

“Thank you for your time,” Casey spoke in a serious detective voice, then turned around to leave. Once the girls got out of the house, they were exploding with words.

“I can’t believe it wasn’t her!” Eliza yelled.

“The only time they could’ve killed Addie was when Ms. Ivey was speaking. No one would’ve had time to kill her before she started talking, and Annabelle recited what Ms. Ivey was saying from the start of her speech.”

“I’m still shocked. Why would she blame me if she didn’t do it?” Eliza questioned.

“That’s a mystery still, and you’re such good friends with Addie. Let’s head to Phoebe’s house next because she’s closest.” Once they opened the door to Phoebe’s room, they were shocked by seeing only blue everywhere they looked. The comforter, pillows, rug, chair bean bag, and even the walls.

The girls asked her what Ms. Ivey said during her speech, and she claimed she was in the bathroom when Ms. Ivey gave her speech. They finished interviewing her and walked out of the white house with gray shutters.

“She claimed she was in the bathroom while Ms. Ivey gave her speech. How suspicious is that? She has an easy way to kill Addie, and she can hide in the bathroom when I went into the makeup studio. She could pop out of the bathroom right when everyone hears about Addie being murdered,” Eliza commented.

“That makes so much sense, but maybe we should still check the other suspects.”

“Agreed.” They checked out all the other suspects, but nothing seemed suspicious. They didn’t think it would unfold that easily. Was it really that easy? Did they already solve the case? They decided to go tell the police.

“Officer! Officer! We know who killed Addie!” Eliza yelled at the top of her lungs. They sprinted towards the doors, and once they got there, they started panting really hard.

“We do too,” Officer Antonio said ferociously. “Give me your wrists, Eliza.”

“What do you mean? You think I did it!? Eliza screeched. “It was Phoebe Green. She told Ms. Ivey that she had to go to the bathroom, and she went to kill Addie. She went to the bathroom and waited until someone realized she was dead. She walked out of the bathroom when we were screaming, and she pretended to be clueless.”

“I’m sorry. Your handprints are on her neck.” Casey gasped.

“She framed me. When I saw the marks on her neck, I went to see if her pulse was moving.” She remembered the gasping. How soothing. The croaking when she tried to breathe. The satisfying, helpless way she tried to squirm in the strong hands. Oh, how helpless she was. Eliza loved it. It all made sense to Casey.

“You went to go suffocate her when you were supposedly checking on her. Then you came running out, blaming it all on Phoebe. You are so selfish killing your best friend for a dance solo!”

“Fine! I did it! I always hated her! She got every bit of attention everywhere. It’s like I was outshined everywhere I went!” Eliza screamed. The cold handcuffs cut her wrist. They were tight and ate up her feeling in her wrist.

“Case solved!” Casey screamed.

 

How Kombucha Ruined My Life

I wake up Saturday morning and check my phone from my bed. Looks like it will be another sunny day that I spend inside. I have been rehearsing the musical Legally Blonde all week, and tonight is the performance. I play Brooke Wyndham, an exercise queen accused of murder. Some of my friends and family are coming, so the show has to be really good. While I’m sad it’s almost over, a sense of relief washes over me. It has been a lot of work.

My phone buzzes, and it’s my very energetic best friend Hazel.

GUESS WHAT??!! she writes.

WHAT????? I jokingly reply. We love goofing off together and have been doing it for years. Since fourth grade to be exact. It’s crazy to think that now eleventh grade is just around the corner.

ASHER IS COMING!!!!

My heart leaps into my throat. Asher, my crush since, well since forever, is coming to my show?

WAIT WHAT?! I reply, hoping that what she says next isn’t true. I haven’t talked to him, like really talked to him, since sixth grade when we shared snacks once. I am one of those people who observe and admire from afar.

He asked me about show dates and times and said that there was someone special in the shows that he wants to see. I think that means you!!

O-M-G. My heart pounds. Why would he be coming to see me? He doesn’t even know me now. Sure, our families are friends, and we used to be friends. Before popularity became a thing, we used to ride our bikes together down to the little cafe and get milkshakes. Him, chocolate. Me, vanilla.

I can’t think about this now. I have to focus on tonight. On giving a fabulous last performance. I get dressed and start my hair and makeup; I will finish it when I get to the theater. I grab a frozen waffle and pop it into the toaster oven as I get my things together. My mom comes in from an early morning grocery store trip and pulls out some chocolate cookies, strawberries, and grapes for me to take out of the grocery bag. I stuff them into my already overflowing backpack and run to the car.

“You forgot your waffle,” my mom says, getting into the driver’s seat. She hands me the warm, crunchy waffle wrapped in a napkin.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, my mouth already full of the sweet breakfast.

“I got you something,” my mom says. She reaches into the back seat and grabs a cold glass bottle filled with some pink liquid and hands it to me.

“What is it?” I asked, a little skeptical of what it was.

“It’s called kombucha. It’s a fermented tea that is really good for your digestion. I want you to try it. It’s grapefruit jasmine flavored and it’s fizzy.” She glances over to me and gestures for me to open it.

I do. Only to please her; my mom always goes on health food cleanses, so it is easiest for everyone to get this over with ASAP. It reeks of vinegar and raw fish — without a doubt, the grossest thing I have ever smelled. I take a small sip, try to hide my gag, and give it back to my mom.

“Here. You try this and tell me if it is something you would drink.”

My mom takes a big sip of the kombucha and chokes.

“That was horrible! I am so sorry I bought that.”

My mom hands the drink back to me, and I put the top back on. We open the windows to air out the car.

“Take it with you, maybe one of your friends will want it.” My mom laughs as I stick the glass bottle as low into my bag as it will go.

As we pull up at the theater, I run in and throw my bag in a corner near where I see my friends Jake and Sami sitting.

“Are you guys pretty nervous too?” Jake continues to run his hands through his nicely gelled hair.

“Stop! I just did your hair. Don’t you dare mess it up again,” Sami responds. She stretches her long, tan legs to get ready for all the dancing we have to do.

We talk for a little bit longer and run a few lines before the stage manager comes in and says, “Time to go into the theatre for notes.”

A few minutes later, we go onto the theater to listen to notes, and I try not to think about that gross kombucha smell at the bottom of my backpack.

Once we finish notes, I grab the kombucha thinking I’ll throw it out, but the stage manager says we can’t leave the dressing room until we are ready for places. Looks like I’m stuck with this gross drink until after the show. I put the it down in the corner and finish getting ready for the run. I take off my clothes and throw them in a pile near the kombucha and get put my costume on.

PLACES!” yells the stage manager as she rushes through the room.

After two solid hours of intense dancing, singing, and acting, the entire cast is super excited for final bows. I am overjoyed because I nailed the super hard dance break in the middle of my song right after intermission. While we are bowing, I try to look over the blinding stage lights, but I can only see as far as the third row. In the first row, my parents stand, smiling and cheering. I still have no idea whether Asher even came or not.

After bows, I go back into the dressing room with Jake and Sami. We change out of our costumes.

“Great show, guys! I’m so happy I didn’t forget my lines,” Jake gushes. I am going to be sad not seeing them every day anymore.

“I’m so happy you didn’t mess up your hair,” Sami jokes.

I smile and pull on my T-shirt, vaguely aware of a weird smell. Everyone smells bad; it’s the last day of shows, that’s how it works. I don’t really think anything of it because we are all sweaty and tired of being in bulky costumes for two hours. Also, the chemical smell of hairspray and hair gel fills the air. Once I am dressed, I wave goodbye to my cast and friends and go out to meet my family.

As I walk out of the dressing room, I see him. Asher. His dirty blonde hair brushed to the side. His shy smile that only reaches the left side of his mouth. His blue eyes that look like the sky on a bright, sunny day. He’s wearing a nice button down shirt and jeans that fit perfectly. He’s looking right at me, and I freeze. As I start to walk toward him, I take a sharp right into the girls bathroom.

I take out my phone and call Hazel.

“Oh. My. God. He’s here. What do I do? What do I say? Oh my god ohmygod ohmygod oh — ”

“AHHH you’ll be fine! You were absolutely stunning out there. You look like a queen! I am on my way to your house, so you can fill me in on all the juicy details!”

Hazel is way too excited for this. I wonder what she knows, but I don’t have time to ask because Asher is here. In the girls bathroom.

“Asher?! What are you doing in here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, Zoe. I saw you ran in here, and I thought you should know it’s the boys bathroom.”

“Asher?” Hazel screams before I have time to hang up.

OH MY GOD.

“Oh yeah. Um yeah.” Crap. There’s no way out of this.

I rush out of the bathroom as fast I as I can. Asher follows me.

“Hey, I got you these.” Asher grabs a small bouquet of roses from a chair in a corner.

“Thank you, Asher. Thank you for coming too, you didn’t have to do that.” My face must be the color of an overripe tomato. I can’t believe this is actually happening.

“I did. I wanted to see you.” He takes a step closer. What was he doing? His face changes as he gets closer. His nose crinkles, and he steps back.

I look down and see a light pink stain on my white T-shirt. A stain so big, so smelly, you can practically see the waves of horrid scent coming off it. The kombucha. It must have spilled on my shirt, but I hadn’t noticed because I was in such a rush to see if Asher had come. I cover it with the roses, stutter, “Uh gotta go. Bye,” at Asher and run out of the hallway.

When I get to the dressing room, the smell of vinegar and dead fish hits me like a freight train. I go to where I had put the bottle, and there is a big crack in the glass and juice is leaking out of it. Right into a puddle where my T-shirt had been. Great.

I grab my stuff, throw away the bottle, and go find my parents so we can leave before anyone else knows that the kombucha smell is me.

Asher is still standing outside the bathroom looking confused. He is texting someone on his phone, so he doesn’t see me rush by. That’s probably a good thing.

“Good job, sweetie!” my mom says as she tries to give me a big hug.

“Trust me, Mom, you don’t want to. Let’s just go home.” I need to go home and shower!

“Hey, Zoe! Did you see who came?” My dad loves teasing me about my crushes. He just thinks it’s so funny how little they like me back.

“Yeah I know. He gave me flowers,” I shoot back. I feel some heat come to my face when I see Asher walking towards us.

“Hey, Zoe. Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. Thanks for the ride home.” He’s riding home with us? Oh no.

It is a very quiet car ride home. I just try to suck all the smell off of me onto my side of the car. I open up the window and think very hard about jumping out of the car. Unfortunately my fear of death holds me back. When we drop Asher off at his house down the street from ours, he tries to say something to me, but I push him out and close the door before he can tell me how bad I smell.

“Get me home.” I lean into my parents so they can smell the emergency.

My mom hits the gas.

I jump out of the car once we get home and run into my room. Hazel is sitting on the bed.

“So??? What happened? What did he say to you? C’mon, Zoe! Say something!”

So, I tell her. Everything. From the boys bathroom, to the roses, to the shared car ride. Then I let her smell me as I was still standing in the doorway. Of course she gags and pushes me into the shower, yelling at me for not bringing any body spray or perfume.

“It’s not my fault!!! I didn’t realize kombucha would ruin my life!” I shower and make sure to scrub extra hard.

Once I get out of the shower and into cleaner, comfier clothes, Hazel and I put on Mean Girls and settle into my bed.

Right before we start the movie, the doorbell rings. Hazel goes to the window and squeals.

“You have to get the door, Zoe! MR AND MRS BROWN, ZOE’S GOT THE DOOR!”

I walk to the window, look down, and there is Asher. He’s rocking back on his heels, and he’s holding something. Hazel squirts me with some perfume and pushes me down the stairs.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

There he is, a look of relief on his face as he holds up a piece of paper.

“I was going to leave this for you if you didn’t answer the door,” he says and he holds out the note.

“Um thanks.” I take it but don’t open it yet. I hesitantly step outside and shut the door behind me.

Asher take a step towards me. “Zoe, I don’t know how to say it, but Hazel said — ”

“Hazel? Why were you talking to her?” Yes. I am a little jealous and very confused. Why wouldn’t she have told me?

“Because Zoe, she’s your best friend. I needed advice.”

“Advice on me?” I cross my arms in front of my chest.

“Advice whether to do this.” He steps in, grabs my elbows, and pulls me into a long kiss.

I step back, shocked. Why would Asher like me? What did Hazel do???

“Well I guess she gave me good advice. I’ve liked you for a while, Zoe, I just didn’t know how to tell you. I went to Hazel for help and to see if you would ever say yes,” Asher says, our faces just inches apart.

“Say yes to what?” My heart is trying to fly out of my chest.

“Open the note.” I look down at the note and slowly unfold it.

Written on the paper are the words Please go out with me? Circle YES or NO. I smile at the funny gesture and look at Asher. He has a nervous look on his face as he looks into my eyes.

I laugh. “Yes of course. Yes, Asher!” I lean in and kiss him again. I hear squealing coming from the window, and we look up to see Hazel screaming and jumping around. Asher and I look at each other and laugh.

“I better go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” I smile and hug him one last time.

“Tomorrow.”

The next morning, I open my eyes and turn to see Hazel still sound asleep next to me in my big bed. She spent the night at my house, so I could fill her in on all the details. The light creeps out from behind the window shades onto my purple walls. The pictures of my family and friends that are hung on my wall glint and sparkle.

I roll out of bed onto my fuzzy carpet that keeps my feet warm in the winter and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I see that my hair is a big tangled mess and not all the makeup has come off of my face. I grab a makeup wipe and try my best to rub off the mascara. I can’t stop thinking about last night; I wonder if it was all a dream.

As I go back into my room, the light has fallen on a small bouquet of roses on my bedside dresser with a note tucked into one of the flowers, and I know I wasn’t dreaming.

 

The Sun Is Up

          

The sun is up

But I am not

I am numb

For the day is not

When I feel things

I only feel

When the sun is sleeping

And I can be alone

I can think my dangerous thoughts

By myself.

I am trapped.

Alone with just my feelings.

Why aren’t they there when I need them?

Why are they only here to hurt?
Is this normal?

Is something wrong with me?

What is it?

What can I do?

To stop it?

So many questions.

Where are my friends?

Why can’t I make them?

Why am I so alone?

Stop.

Pause.

For just a moment.

Stop asking questions.

Answer them.

Is this normal?

No.

Is something wrong with me?

No.

I’ve read about this.

They tell me there are other people here,

They’re just like me.

I don’t believe them.

What can I do?

I need someone.

I need someone to listen.

Someone to talk to.

Someone to understand.

Why don’t you understand?

Unpause.

The questions will not stop.

What can I do.

Who can I ask for help

If I have no one.

Pause.

Again.

Think.

Who do I have?

My parents?

No, they wouldn’t understand

They tell me I need therapy.

No.

No.

No.

But what if it could help?

They would judge me.

But what if they were okay?

I can’t take the chance.

Yes I can.

What harm would it do?

You’re right.

I’m crazy.

I’m right.

I need help.

Unpause.

The sun is up.

I’m almost up.

I can feel the progress.

I still have questions, but they are leaving.

I’m going to be okay.

I know it.

I am normal.

I am not alone.

Pause.

I know that they will help me.

Unpause.

The sun is up.

And so am I.

I think that I’m okay.

I was brave.

I got help.

Unpause.

 

Dogfriend

           

Yellow dogs.

Black dogs.

White dogs.

Red dogs.

Brown dogs.

Grey dogs.

Even pink dogs.

So many dogs

To be my friend

For me to defend.

An ally

So diverse

That to be my dogfriend

Would be not a curse.

Yellow dogs.

Black dogs.

White dogs.

Red dogs.

Brown dogs.

Grey dogs.

Even pink dogs.

Accepting of all breeds

To diversity these are the seeds.

Kindness

Is diversity’s heiress.

Compassion

Is in our fashion.

Open-mindedness

Is to be taught with stress.

Accepting of all breeds

For to diversity these are the seeds.

 

Blue

        

Blue house

New house

New blouse

Blue blouse

Blue hue

Few to

Enjoy all that blue can do

The color blue

It stays so true

To all of the emotions

Blue dew

A happy sight

Reminds of the end of the night

And beginning of the day

Blue coo

So comforting

A blue coo’s a special coo

As it’s only cooed by those you knew

Who you know always care for you

Blue displays the happy

But blue displays the sad

And blue displays the anger

That everyone has had

Blue can tell of glory

Or blue can tell a story

It all depends on who

Is watching blue with you

 

Poisonous Rain

        

Rain is falling

Mom is calling.

It’s time to go inside

Weather lied.

Rain is falling

Mom is calling.

She is fleeing

I am seeing.

Why?

I say.

Is the rain poisonous?

No.

Then why?

I ask.

Are you going to die

Because water is falling from the sky?

Rain is falling

Mom is calling.

Storm is coming

I’m still humming.

Water’s spraying

I’m still playing.

Rain is falling

Mom is calling.

Thunder’s frightening

Here comes lightening.

All is calm

Don’t worry, Mom.

It’s time to go inside

Weather lied.

Rain is falling.

Mom is calling.

She is fleeing

I am seeing.

Why?

I say.

Is the rain poisonous?

No.

Then why?

I ask.

Are you going to die

Because water is falling from the sky?

 

Cold Summers Night in the Country

 

We’d hear the wild grass

Rustle like a blanket

On a cold summer night

As we watch the stars.

Our mouths turn o-shaped

And I point at the constellations.

You would tap on my shoulder and

Point to the shooting star,

I’d blink and miss it.

You’d groan at just the

Right pitch so that

I would know

You were joking.

You had an odd sense of humor

That always made me laugh.

I loved it when you made me laugh.

It felt different

Than all of the other times.

After a while

We’d fall asleep

With the blankets up to

Our noses.

 

Shelves

              

on dusty racks

my whole life sits

in crumpled balls of

scribbled lines

the stories that

i couldn’t tell

my snowglobes

show foreign times

and foreign places

brought to me by

loving hands

letters to people

long forgotten

all the friends

i left behind

pictures of my

shiny face

framed by glowing

youth and mirth

both things lost to the years

and covered in filmy dust.

little toy frogs

and old, folded blankets

yellow music boxes

and chipped, brown mugs

sit in cobwebs

to tell my story.

 

The Smell

Cyrus woke up that morning without the familiar scent of pine. Even in his sleep soaked mind, Cyrus immediately recognized the change. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes, searching the little room for any noticeable differences. But no, the dresser, the desk, the chair, everything was there. Everything except for the subtle, clean smell he woke to each day. Thinking about it, he didn’t even know where the smell had come from or when it started. Cyrus only knew that it had become the most comforting part of coming home every day. The thought of being in his tiny apartment without it sent a pain through his heart that he didn’t fully understand. Cyrus sat up in bed. He knew, with an almost mad determination, that he would need to find his smell and bring it back.

 

First, Cyrus started in the bedroom, carefully combing through every inch of the space. Papers, notes, letters, the usual. He smelled each one, but there was nothing. Not even a hint of pine. Cyrus moved on to the living room. So many things lying about, not one of them smelling quite right. Kitchen now. Cyrus tore apart his refrigerator, then each drawer. Food and knives laid on the floor when he was done, smelling of everything all at once. Everything except his pine. Heart beating faster, he ran back through the apartment. Maybe the smell lived inside the mattress or at the back of the dresser. Perhaps it hid in the couch cushions or in the space behind the refrigerator. Sometimes he caught tiny whiffs of his scent, like it was taunting him. Or maybe he was just imagining things.

After hours of tearing up the apartment over and over, Cyrus sank down against his front door. Looking around the room, he did not see the destruction caused by his search. He only felt the absence of pine. And with it, he knew that his world would never be right again.

 

The General

As the general took his strides around his base, he smiled. He saw the lieutenants preparing for battle, the cadets screaming at one another to get ready, and the captains going over the strategies one last time. Ever since the last time the enemy knew they were coming and had drastically overpowered them, they had assured each other that they would never experience the humiliation of defeat again. They had doubled their practice time, and, being the general, he had noticed the change. He himself used to be a cadet just like them, so he understood the pain that they were going through when they did their ten-mile run with their supplies on. Over the course of the year, he had come to know each and every one of them quite well, and he was proud. He knew they were ready for battle.

The day had come to take the enemy base. Their country was rooting for them, and they would not let them down. As they boarded the plane and attempted to take the high ground, the general felt a sense of stress unlike any other. When the ground of the plane opened up, and the soldiers started to jump off one by one, the feeling of time started to shift. One second turned into ten, so much that it seemed like an eternity before he was finally able to fall into the field.

As he returned to action, however, the long-lost feeling of the air flowing against his face brought up an old memory. For a while, all was chaos. Gunshots breezed through the air, causing his ears to ring. He even let out a few shots from his gun, though only one made contact. He looked behind him to see his best snipers shooting from a half-mile away. His foot soldiers continued to gain ground, and after a while, it seemed like they had the advantage. That was until they got to the wall. As hard as they tried, they could not break down the barrier that was keeping them from getting inside the base. All the while they tried, the enemy was throwing down grenades at them, ending the lives of too many people. It was at that moment when the general made the decision to do the one thing he never thought he would have to. He was going to have to —

“Kids, come down, and have your dinner! And don’t forget to clean up that pillow fort when you’re done!”

 

Human’s Humanity

It is a human’s greatest humanity to see beauty in imperfection. The way that her mouth curves slightly to the left when she smiles. The way that a wave never breaks the same in any place. It’s that happiness that is unique and different to each sadness that follows it. It’s how life can never be just as you want it, and you know this, but you keep dreaming of the perfect one anyway.

I’ve been on this earth for a very long time. I’ve seen all that anyone could imagine, done all that anyone could think of, and been through all that anyone could conceive, as wonderful or cruel as each was. But was it real? I experienced each day without color, loved each person without passion, but still told myself that everything I ever did was right. It is my nature to not except the consequences of simply living with all the things you’re supposed to live with. It was how I was raised. All I can do is watch. I watch you feel, and it makes me sick to think that you’ve seen more, felt more, loved more, been more in one short lifetime than I have in twenty.

You there, on the street. You look at me as if I’m a monster, watching through this soot-stained window as my city burns. But I was cursed. I couldn’t see it. All of those little imperfections that make you so terribly human. All of the beauty in this world is lost to me. So when I lit that fire, you should know that I felt nothing.

 

Diary of a 1700’s Girl

     

12/3/1775

Williamsburg

Today is my birthday! I’m turning 12! My name is Elizabeth Port, but people call me Beth for short. I got this diary from my mom for my birthday. My family is the middling sort. My father is a blacksmith. My parents’ names are Mary Port and James Port. I have two older brothers. They are named Joshua, who is 17, and Tomas, but everybody calls him Tom, and he is 14. I’m going to write this diary like it’s a story and explain everything about my life because sometimes, I think that someone might read this in the future.

My father inherited the house that we live in from my grandpa. It is made of brick, and it has actual windows! The inside of the house has a downstairs and an upstairs, and it has open fireplaces in almost every room. It has one in the kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms, and the dining room. The upstairs has three bedrooms, one for my parents, one for me, and my brothers share a room. The middle floor has a living room with a couple of chairs and a small table in the middle. The dining room has a big table in the middle and chairs all around it. We eat ham, fish, apples, peas, beans, lettuce, onions, carrots, potatoes, squash, and corn. We drink tea, milk, coffee, wine, apple cider, and beer.

The bedrooms have soft feather beds and curtains around them. There is a necessary bathroom behind the house. My mom has a kitchen garden, and I have to weed, water, and plant in it. I also have to chase away the rabbits that come. We grow peas, carrots, corn, and lettuce. Also, we grow herbs and some plants that she thinks are good for medicine. Remember, my father inherited this house, but we didn’t have the money to buy it if it wasn’t ours. Girls and women wear a shift, stockings, stays, petticoat, pocket, outer petticoat, and a frock. It takes a very long time to get dressed. Almost every morning, my mom and I go to Market Square. There are fruits and vegetables, eggs, milk, butter, crabs, oysters, sheep, pigs and chickens, and also pottery. We pay for it all with Spanish silver. There is pence, shillings, and pounds. Sometimes after we go to Market Square, we go to Chownings (CHEWnings). Chownings is a tavern.

I used to go to school, but I had to stop because the teacher said, being a girl, I had learned enough. But my mom still teaches me a little bit of something every morning. She taught me how to read and write. My brother, Joshua, is going to William and Mary next year. My dad wants Joshua to be a blacksmith like him, but Joshua wants to be a lawyer. By now, I’m sure you are wondering if we have slaves. Answer: we do not. My entire family thinks slavery is wrong. So that’s pretty much my life. Oh, and one more minor detail, the war has started. A couple of years ago, in Boston, they dumped all of their tea into the harbor, and it was called the Boston Tea Party. And a couple of years before that was the Boston Massacre. I’ll explain more later.

 

12/5/1775

Williamsburg

So, people have been growing more and more restless and annoyed because of taxes and other things. So, we started a war! I didn’t do a very good job of explaining that, but I hope you have the general idea. I’m going to Market Square soon, so I am going to write this quickly.  Yesterday, we got invited to my friend’s birthday party, and it was amazing. She is very rich, so they had all sorts of food and things to do. There were six different kinds of meat and apple cider. Then, for dessert, there were pies, cakes, candy, and a thing called a trifle, which is a rich cake made of a jelly roll, custard, cream, rum, and wine. Also the children sat apart from the grown ups. It was so fun. Well I have to go.

 

Later…

Today, when we were in Market Square, I saw a slave auction going on. My mom steered me away from it. I asked her why anyone would be so cruel as to sell human beings.

She said, “Beth, I don’t know. Most people don’t think the way we do. When you grow up, I want you to fight for what is right. I want you to become an abolitionist. And the best way to tell other people that slavery is wrong is to become a teacher.”

And now that’s all I want to be.

 

12/6/1775

Williamsburg

I have heard about unrest in different parts of the thirteen colonies. I heard gunshots! I was in the garden, and I heard them! It’s really scary. Joshua went to William and Mary today to see what it was like. He really liked it, though I don’t know if we can afford it.

 

Later…

My mom bought me some clay at the market, and I can draw with it. Here are some of the colors: red, yellow, green, light blue, magenta, and blue. I have already drawn something with them. Anyway, I have big news. Joshua got into William and Mary! We are so happy for him. I saw another slave auction. I HATE THEM!!! Tonight, my mom and I are going to make a huge dinner for Joshua. We are going to have: (drinks first) beer, tea, and apple cider. And then to eat, we are having: peas, ham, carrots, corn, and potatoes. But right now, I’m bored. I think we (my mom and I) are going to a tavern today for lunch. I’m really excited. I haven’t been to a tavern in years! We stopped going when taxes went up. But today, we decided to go. I need to go now.

 

Later…

Right now, I’m in the cargo part of a ship.

Here’s what happened. It’s close enough to Christmas that there were Christmas trees and wreaths all around the tavern. We went to the tavern and walked inside. It had candles all over the place and Christmas trees in the corners. We got led to our table and sat down. In taverns and homes (like ours) they have metal cups, plates, and silverware. A waitress came over and asked us what we wanted to eat.

“I would like ham, and cornbread, and peas as one side, please,” I said.

“I don’t want anything,” said Mom.

The lady nodded and walked away.

“Mom, why aren’t you getting anything?” I asked.

“Because I’m not hungry, and I want to talk to you,” said Mom. “Your father is going to Great Britain with a couple of other people who are going to ask the king to lower taxes. He is going on the ship that leaves tomorrow.”

I gasped. “Why?” I asked.

“Because the taxes are really getting to be too much, and it doesn’t seem like it’s affecting us, but it is, and it’s going to be very dangerous because of the war.”

I stared at her. The waitress came up to our table and gave me my food. I felt sick now, and I didn’t want to eat anything, but I didn’t want Mom to feel bad. Suddenly, we heard a gunshot! We looked around and saw Redcoats (Britain’s soldiers) walk in. A waitress walked over to them and asked if they wanted a table. They waved her away and walked into the tavern.

“Is James Port here?” asked the leader.

I looked around at Mom, but she wasn’t there. I looked back over at the Redcoats, and I saw her talking to them. I walked over to them and heard what they were saying.

“There is no James Port in this tavern. But I do know where he lives. He lives on…”

I moved away from them then. I couldn’t believe it! The Brits were looking for my father! I wonder why? When my mom came back, I asked her why they were looking for him. She said it was none of my business, and I should eat my food so we could go home. So I did. When we got home, Mom went straight to my father’s workshop to talk to him. When she came back, she was extremely pale.

“We have to go,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because your father is in trouble. Get your things together.”

I went to get my clothes and saw a gun pointing into the room. I screamed and ran to Mom.

“Mom! Mom! There is a gun pointing into the hallway window!”  

She ran to the window and stared.

“Quick, get ready to go. Now!”  

I ran to my room and grabbed a couple of cloaks and a bonnet, and a bag with some of my toys. I ran to Mom, and we ran out the door.

“What about Joshua and Thomas?”

“They will be fine. They are in school.”  

We ran to my father’s shop and found him packing some things.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

We nodded, and we ran out.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To the ship that your father was supposed to go on.”

As we were running, we heard a crash of thunder, and it started to pour rain. I groaned and started to run. When we got to the port, I was muddy and wet and really cold. I realized that only my father had a ticket! I was going to ask Papa about it, but he waved me off. I was silent for awhile. He looked at the ship. When he waved for me to follow, I walked over to him.

“Where are we going?” I repeated.

He put his finger to his lips, and we walked over to one of the guards. We waved, and he nodded at us. Papa looked around quickly to see if anyone was around, no one was. We ran up into the ship and went down as far as we could.

So now I’m in the lowest part of a ship headed for London. Then we are going to go to France to get away from the people who are looking for Papa. I’m really scared.

 

12/16/1775

We’re here! London. It smells like wet horses, and I saw someone empty a chamber pot onto the street. I saw a man, who had an eye patch and a crutch, stagger towards us and ask Papa for money. Now we are in someone’s house. Papa says that it’s a family who he knows from college. They don’t have any kids, so they were very happy to see us.

 

12/17/1775

I slept in the guest room by myself! I was so scared! I don’t like being by myself. We left the house today, and we went to an inn for lunch. When we left, I saw a person talk to a soldier in a red coat and point to us! I told Papa that, but he waved me off, and we kept walking. We went to another person’s house. This time, it was my grandma! I saw a picture of someone on the mantelpiece, and it looked like Mama. I asked Grandma if I could have it, and she said yes.

 

12/21/1775

We are in France! We took a boat a couple of days ago! We are looking for a house to stay in right now, so we are staying in a old, dingy abandoned house. But I love it here! Everything is better. And Mama thinks we will have a house by Christmas! I’m so excited. It’s beautiful here. It started snowing yesterday, and Mama and I had a snowball fight! It is getting cold in the abandoned house, though. We got baguettes at a cafe once, and they were so good! I loved them! There is a really big place where people are selling Christmas trees! When we find a house, we are going to buy one! I found this letter stuck in one of the floorboards in the house. Here is what it says:

 

12/17/1775

To my dearest Ana,

I miss you more than words can say. I will come home soon, once the colonies have calmed down, but for now, I am stuck here in Virginia. The revolutionary war is keeping me here. But, there might be a way to end it soon. We are planning a surprise attack on Boston in ten days. Then maybe I will be able to come home.

Well, I firmly clasp and kiss your hand. Keep well, cheerful, happy. Work, leap, let yourself be carried away, sing, and, if possible, don’t forget a humble soldier, your zealous admirer, Charles.

 

I have been thinking about what it says, and I think they are going to do the attack on the 27th, which is in six days! I haven’t told anyone about it yet, because if it means nothing, then, you know, but I really do think it means something! I wonder who Ana is, and if she lived in this house.

 

12/23/1775

Williamsburg

We own a house in France! Oh, I forgot to mention where in France we are. We are in Paris! The house we bought is tiny, but very comfortable. You walk in, and there are stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Then, you turn left and walk into the living room. It has a little fireplace and a mantle. The person who sold us the house left all the furniture and stuff in it, so we have everything we need. Once you walk past the living room, you walk into the dining room. It has a little table in middle, and then you walk into the kitchen. There is a little counter, and in the corner, there is a fireplace with a cauldron hanging on a iron rail. Then you walk back through the dining room and the living room, and walk up the stairs. When you are upstairs, you can go into two rooms. One is my room, and the other one is Mama and Papa’s room. My room is fairly small, but I love it. It has a little window overlooking the Pont Neuf. I have a big bed, and then there are my clothes (which we bought in Paris), and then there is a little desk, and on it, I have a couple of books and my drawing things. So that’s the house that we are staying in. I love it! The person who we bought the house from was very rich, so there is a ton of fancy furniture, and plates and cups and so on. There are curtains by the windows, and little cushions on a bench by the windows.

 

12/24/1775

I am really worried about that letter. I told Papa about it, and he is going to give it to a French officer that he met when we were looking for a house. It is Christmas Eve! We are going to have a feast tonight! We got a tree and put some decorations on it. It is not perfect, but I love it. I have a stocking over the fireplace.  

 

12/25/1775

HA! I was right about that letter! They are going to attack the Brits tomorrow before the Redcoats can attack Boston. I am really glad I found that letter. Today is Christmas day! I got some grapes and oranges in my stocking. Under the tree, I got a doll, some dresses, and a couple of little toys. I also got a letter kit! It has a couple pieces of paper, and a quill and ink, and a seal!

 

12/27/1775

They got them! They ambushed the Brits before they could attack Boston! I sent Joshua and Thomas a letter each, and I hope that they write me back. Papa has to find a job. I think he is getting worried. He definitely wants to be a blacksmith like he was in Williamsburg. I really miss it there! I miss my friends, and I really miss Joshua and Tom. I haven’t gotten a response from them. I kind of hate it here! I miss everything and everyone in Williamsburg. And I don’t have any friends here.

 

1/1/1776

I got a letter from Joshua and Tom! They said they missed us, and that they were going to come to France and find us! I can’t wait to see them! I have a new friend! Her name is Anna. She is my age, and her birthday is right before mine. It is November 12th. I am going to go to her house tomorrow. I can’t wait.

 

1/15/1776

I had a great time! I played with her for an hour! I am going to see her in a couple of days!

 

1/17/1776

Anna is sick! I think she will get better, though. I am praying for her every night. I am so worried. I am kind of liking it in France now.

 

1/25/1776

She is dead!!! I can’t believe it! I feel so bad for her parents. I am so sad. I am going to go to her funeral. I hate France. I really, really, really want to go back to Williamsburg

 

2/5/1776

NOOOOOOO!!! We just got a letter that said that Joshua and Tom got shot! By a Redcoat! I can’t believe this. I am an only child now! I am so sad! Mama and Papa are very sad. I don’t know how we are going to hold a funeral. I can’t… ugh. I can’t contemplate what has happened.

 

2/7/1776

We got Joshua and Tom’s bodies today. They have dried blood all over their chest. I threw up all over them when I saw them. There are three bullets in Joshua’s chest and one in Tom’s. We have put up a bunch of black cloth on our house, and all the furniture has black cloth on it. We are not going to be following the French funeral practices. We are going to have it the way we would have it in Williamsburg.

We are not going to give out gifts, because we don’t have enough money. We are going to hire two boys to carry them, and I am making rings and sewing gloves for everyone who is coming. We are inviting a couple of friends Mama and Papa made when we moved to France and Anna’s family as well. This is going to be very expensive. The coffin is 10 shillings,  and there has to be lots of wine beer and liquor, and all of that is about 20 shillings, and we need to pay the boys who are carrying the coffin five shillings each. So in all, it is about 40 shillings, which is about two pounds! I don’t know how we are going to get all of that money.

 

2/11/1776

OH MY GOSH! I had a great time at the funeral! So the boys that we hired, one of them is seventeen and the other one is thirteen. So after they carried the coffin, the thirteen-year-old grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shade of a tree.

“Do you recognize me?”

“William?! Yes!”

I realized that he was an old friend I had known when I was really young.

“Good! I moved here a couple months ago.”

“Me too!”

“I am sorry that your brothers died.”

“I am not going to say that it is fine, because it’s not, but thank you.”

We stayed behind the tree the entire funeral and talked.

 

2/15/1776

We are going to a fair really soon! I can’t wait! I have seen William three times since the funeral! I am going to a market tomorrow, and it is, like, the most expensive market in the world. I can’t wait! I am going to a newspaper place with Papa because he wants to write newspapers. I am really excited for him. I don’t think that’s the job he wants. He wants to do something. I’m scared for him. I don’t want him to do anything stupid and get killed.

 

2/20/1776

OH MY GOSH! We are going to move back to Williamsburg!! I am so excited! I can see my friends again! I am kind of sad that we are going to leave this house. But I am actually really excited! I am kind of scared though. I don’t want to get killed. But I really want to do something! For George Washington! I am so jealous of the people who can actually fight! Which means only the men. So stupid. They could use the help of women! Aside from, of course, washing and cooking and cleaning and all that stuff. Outrageous! But I am really excited to move back!

 

3/1/1776

We are leaving tomorrow! I can’t wait! I am so excited to see all of my friends again! But I am also kind of scared. There is a war going on after all. I still don’t know what my dad did to make us have to leave. I am going to ask my mom about it. I think he committed a crime against the British. I’m worried about when we go back. I don’t want to have to leave again.

 

3/8/1776

We are home! I am so happy! I have seen all of my friends again, and I am so happy! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY! But I’m also kind of scared. I don’t want to move away again. EVER! We have moved back into our old house, and we are going to have a party! I am going to invite all of my friends over, and we are going to have so much fun! But, I am kind of afraid that the British will come and try to stay at our house, like they did with my friend, Molly. She said that it was really scary, and that they threatened to kill her and her family. She said that she would stay in her bedroom for most of the time because she didn’t want to see them.

 

3/13/1776

I am really bored with life here. I thought that if we moved back I would be really happy, but I actually hate it here. Oh, and I asked what Papa did, and Mama said that he offended a general for the British. I want to DO something! I want to be a spy.

 

3/20/1776

AHHHH! The British are at our house! They are staying here for a week! I am so mad! It’s actually not as scary as I thought it would be, but they are eating all of our food! And we don’t have enough rooms for them, so they kicked us out! Now we have to sleep in the living room, on little mats! But, now is my chance to run away and spill everything that I hear. I am going to listen in on their conversations. They have all been talking about how they are really excited to kick George Washington’s butt. I think that is rude and vulgar, and I would like to kick their butts. I have learned a lot, though. I am not going to write it down here because I don’t want anyone to find it. But I have learned a lot! I am very proud of myself.

 

3/25/1776

I am going to leave in a couple days. I am not going to tell anyone, but especially not my parents. They would freak out! I can’t tell anyone about this. And I have to make sure to hide this diary, so nobody finds it. Because if they do, then I will be in so much trouble.

I have a little problem. I don’t know where to go! I am very lost. I think I am somewhere in Virginia. (I mean obviously, because Williamsburg is in Virginia.) Somewhere else in Virginia. Right now I am in a big hole I found in a tree trunk. I have run out of water, so I am looking for a river or stream. I have been practicing hiding from people, so I can practice being a spy. I also have to practice being a boy. I have no idea how to act. What would a boy do? I am having some second thoughts about this. I am really scared. I don’t really know if there is a punishment for girls and women if they get caught in the army. But I really hope there is not. I have to keep going now.

 

3/30/1776

I made it! I found someone to take me to their camp, and I am now a spy for General George Washington. I don’t think he trusts me. He keeps looking at me strangely. I think he may think that I am a spy for the British. I have to be very careful about what I do. Nobody likes me. I feel very lonely, and I wish I hadn’t run away. I feel like crying. I am not meant to do this. I have seen a bunch of slaves in the camp. They have to do a bunch of manual labor. And they get whipped. It is terrible. I went to their part of the camp, and they barely have any food or water or anything like that. They don’t even have good blankets! They are going to freeze! I feel so incredibly bad for them.

 

4/2/1776

I am going on my first mission! I have to find out when and where the British are going to attack. I have to go to Charleston because General George Washington thinks that the British are going to try to take over the seaport there. Charleston is of course in South Carolina, so it is going to be a very, very, very long trip to get there. I don’t really know why they didn’t just send someone else to go. Someone who is closer! It is going to take days to get there! From what I hear, there is a small American force there already, but they need someone to find out the following:

Commanders: how many and who.

How many guns, men and ships they have, and when they are planning the attack.

And I have to do it all in two weeks. It’s like they want me to fail. How am I going to get all that information in two weeks?! I have to gain the Commanders’ trust, and then I have to figure out everything they want, and then I have to get away! That’s the part I am worried about. The getting away part. I don’t know how I am going to do that. I have talked to some people about it, and they have been no help at all.

It’s just been: “Well I don’t know, you are supposed to be the spy, not me.” Or “Don’t ask me! I don’t want to talk to no spy! Good for nothing slinking about slimy lowlifes!”

When someone says something like that, I usually walk away from them as fast as I can.

 

4/5/1776

I am almost to South Carolina. I can’t really write right now because the carriage is bumping so much. But I am going to try my best. Right now, my schedule is: get to South Carolina, get to the camp, learn as much as I can,  then get away, and tell them what I learned. I am really nervous. I CAN NOT GET CAUGHT! If I do, I will be put to death! I am going to meet the men at the rebel camp there, and then I am going to go into the British territory. I am really scared about this.

     

4/10/1776

I have talked to the people in charge at the camp, and now I am getting ready to go. I won’t be allowed to bring this diary, so this is going to be my last entry for a really long time. I have to go now.

 

Little did Elizabeth know that that would be her last entry in her diary. When she got to the camp, everyone started to get suspicious of her, and soon found out that she was a spy. She was put to death the next day. When her parents found out, they held a big funeral service. All of the Ports children were killed by the British. The Ports moved back to France and lived there for the rest of their lives.

 

The End      

 

Don’t Make Prank Phone Calls, Kids! (Excerpt)

“Hello?” six-year-old Fate said into her mother’s cellphone.

“Oh, ah, hello, Porro! My house went down in a fire today, and the firemen are extinguishing the flames, but my son, Terry, is still inside. The flames are getting bigger and bigger, and I’m getting more and more worried. I just wanted to tell you because you’re my sister. Also, do you have a cold? You sound different. How are your twins doing?” She didn’t sound worried at all.

“Uh, I don’t know what the words you just said mean,” Fate said, picking her nose.  

“Oh, ah, yes, you’re new to the English language!” Fate’s Aunt, Carry, said. “Well, the point is, my son is in a fire and is probably going to die. Anyways, that’s not important right now. How are Cake and Fate?”

“My mommy isn’t home,” she then took her slimy finger out of her nostril and stuffed it into her mouth.

“Oh, my! Fate? Is that you? Or is that Cake? You guys sound just alike. Anyways, forget all the stuff I just said to you. Everyone’s fine. Heh. Heh…” Carry said, and on the other line, she was shrugging off the topic as if it were troublesome dirt on her shoulder that she was sweeping off.

“My mommy went grocery shopping with Cakey. Also, my daddy doesn’t like you!”

“What?! I thought that we were friends! He said that he did and now he is being such a liar! Why? Why? Why?” she said, including some words that may not be written.

“I don’t know no words you said just now. My daddy still doesn’t like you.”  

“Well, I DON’T LIKE-” Fate hung up.

“Fate? Cake? Where are you? Where did you put my phone?” Porro’s voice was rising now, getting angrier. “You two are going to be in so much trouble when I find you!”

“Cakey, c’mon! Stop standing there like an idiot! If mommy catches us, we’re dead!”

Fate grabbed Cake’s shaking arm and practically dragged her into their closet. Fate put the cell phone in a little box that was supposed to be for shoes, but she had thrown those away when they were three. “Don’t tell Mommy where I hid this! Okay?”

Cake nodded, cowering in the corner. Fate quickly opened a little hatch in the floor and jumped into the hole.  

Cake’s eyes widened. “T-the bunker?” she said. “I thought we were saving that for the zombie apocalypse!”  

“This is the start of the zombie apocalypse! Now get down here before that zombie bites you!” Fate yelled from down in the bunker.

“O-okay…” Cake said, and jumped down, closing the hatch as she went.  

She landed on her butt on a mattress with a little ‘oof.’  

“Now, shush,” Fate said. “Mommy will be coming very soon.”

“You mean the zombie?”

Fate grinned. “I mean, the zombie.”

 

Laughter Heals All Wounds

  

Laughter heals all wounds, and that’s one thing that everybody shares. No matter what you’re going through, it makes you forget about your problems. I think the world should keep laughing.” – Kevin Hart

 

During some of the most difficult moments of my life, I would use comedy to cope. I remember dashing up the stairs, and bolting into my room in search of my iPad with its bulky, green case. I’d swipe through page after page looking for the YouTube app. After finding and clicking on it, my fifth grade self would type “Kingsley” in the search bar. I admired his sense of humor. The way he talked about the unfortunate events in his life were not only amusing but relatable. Kingsley’s videos would rid that feeling of loneliness that lay inside me. It helped me realize that I am not the only person dealing with people who would judge me based on some characteristic that I can’t change. He influenced me to laugh at and belittle ignorance instead of allowing it to tear me down.

Whenever people first meet me, they usually think I am shy and reserved.  But over the years, I have realized that people who know me really well think of me as “the funny one.” After spending hours of free time watching comedians like Kingsley or Kevin Hart, I decided to start expressing my sense of humor to everyone. Well, scratch that, I expressed my jokes to small groups of people I know, or that I am getting to know. Making people laugh allows me to find confidence in myself. When I am laughing with my friends or my family, it distracts me from the sadness and sappy emotions that I feel on the inside.

Now you are probably wondering, What on earth is making this girl so sad?? I will answer your question with a brief story about my life. But I don’t want to share a depressing story with you because as you can tell, I prefer to think happy thoughts. I will tell you about some of the remarks and actions people have directed towards me regarding my race. Although the experiences completely diminished my self-esteem, looking back, I often realized that my reaction to these situations were so ridiculous that they were actually quite funny. Be prepared to read the unfortunate yet amusing story that is my life.

To start off, I would love to thank the Hill School for shaping me into the kind, compassionate person I am today. Also, fuck the Hill School for blinding me to the world of racism and mean people. From preschool to third grade, I attended that “crunchy granola” place with its unrealistic views of the world. Hill School is located in New York City, and the campus is every child’s dream. The building is yellow and resembles a castle resting upon a grassy hill. There are vivacious colors from the flora and fauna surrounding the school, and a beautiful creek that can only be crossed if walked over the wooden bridge they built to make us feel special. If this does not sound ridiculous to you, then you need a reality check.

We literally spent the majority of our time talking about having “good moral values” and “sticking together as a community.”

At 8:30 in the morning, every student walks single file into the gym, and then proceeds to disperse into groups based on grade. The music teacher walks to the front of the gym with a guitar in hand, and smiles at all the children waiting to start the school day. He strums the chords of the “Garden Song,” and all the students put their hands in the air creating motions that represent the lyrics of the song: “inch-by-inch / row by row / I want to make my garden grow / all it takes is a rake and a hoe and a piece of fertile ground.” It was as if we were preparing ourselves to plant flowers together.

Since we spent so much time learning how to collaborate and how to be inclusive, students were never really mean to each other. Well, of course every now and then, there would be some traces of bullying. However, mean behavior was not tolerated – especially among the kids. The kids who would lash out at their peers were often isolated by the rest of the class. One girl, Nora, was the biggest bully in our entire class. During recess, she actually had the nerve to push me down the slide with aggression, screaming, “Go down the stupid slide! The slide is stupid and you’re stupid too!” I hope you are all laughing at this scene. I really thought this was a big deal as a kid, but looking back this is now mildly amusing to me. Anyways… a group of my friends went and told the teacher, and Nora was put in time out for the rest of recess. Just for calling me stupid! Hill did not stand for this type of behavior.

My parents began to realize how cushy the Hill School was, so when our family moved to New Jersey from New York City, they decided I needed a change. So they pulled me out of the granola paradise and sent me to the Valley Girls School in an affluent New Jersey suburb.  I had a lot of mixed emotions about transitioning. There was a sadness in my heart because I had to leave the comfort of my old school. However, part of me was really looking forward to a change.

Growing up, I watched a tremendous amount of TV. For some reason, I took all the shows I watched very seriously. My expectations for life were quite high because of these ridiculous shows. I am honestly still trying to understand why I believed the plots could even be close to reality. Literally, 20-year-olds were playing high/middle-schoolers living the most perfect life, and so I thought to myself,  “Lol, when I go to this new school, I am going to have a glow up and make so many friends on the very first day.” By the time I walked into the building on my first day at Valley, everything hit me. The television had been lying to me!

Valley marked the beginning of the rest of my life. My view of the world was suddenly altered. At Hill, everything seemed to be one color. The idea of difference was never really addressed. For example, when looking at my friend, I wouldn’t see her as my “white friend,” I’d see her as my friend. However, at Valley, everyone emphasizes how we are different and the same. We wear uniforms to make us all the same, so we spent all our time emphasizing all the ways that we were different. In some ways it is a good thing, but in other ways, it is quite demoralizing.  My new school suddenly brought my race into focus.  For the first time, I started confronting what it meant to be different: a black, dark-skinned girl, growing up in a predominately white city in America.

First off, Valley has a very different way of running their morning meetings compared to Hill. As I sat in the gathering room at Valley, I was expecting an old man to walk to the front of the room and sing about the greatness of nature. Instead, a young British man stood in the middle of the room and told us to stand up and face the flag. Now I am thinking to myself, What on earth is going on? People put their hands to their hearts, and start pledging allegiance to the flag. Even though I spent the majority of my life in America (I lived overseas for a couple years), this pledge was unfamiliar to me. I’m not sure what was going on at Hill, but we did not learn the Pledge of Allegiance and my parents are foreigners, so we never really talked about it at home either. I didn’t really consider myself to be living in America or really understand what that meant. In my ten-year old brain, I just thought that we are living in a tiny corner of the world with people that I care about. So, I was feeling really confused during my first day of morning meeting at Valley. I didn’t know the words to this pledge and didn’t know what to do with my heart. So my fourth grade self looked around aimlessly trying to mouth the words to the pledge of allegiance, with my left hand on the right side of my chest. D-I-S-A-S-T-R-O-U-S. That morning foreshadowed what I was about to experience at this school.

One thing I wanted to accomplish at Valley was to be “popular.” On the TV shows that I would watch, the pretty, blonde white girl would usually be the one with all the friends, and would have guys falling all over her. This girl is typically a strong reflection of American stereotypes. So going into Valley, I thought to myself that I needed to find the blonde, preppy girls so that I could become popular. Some of you may think, Why assume that there is a certain look for popularity? Well, in this affluent suburban town, there is a group of white girls placed at the top of the social hierarchy. I know that I am correct because as soon as I got into the classroom, there they were. Two blonde, preppy girls standing in the corner of the room, giggling and twirling their extremely light hair. And let me tell you, those girls carried a lot of power. Our grade made a conscious effort to name that little clique by combining their names. From what I remember, a lot of people were kind of jealous of them, and low-key yearned to be a part of their little, privileged bubble. I was one of those people, and at first, I really thought that I could be friends with them. Remember those Hill values? Everyone should be friends with everyone. That can work at Valley too, right? L-M-A-O! Oh boy, was I wrong.

When my dark-skinned, goofy self came up to “the populars” attempting to make convo, they looked at me as if I were crazy. I felt as if I didn’t have the right to be friends with them because of the way I looked. This is the first time in my life, that I remember wanting to be white so badly. One day, I saw one of the blondes brushing her hair after swimming. The bristles went through her hair so elegantly. I wanted my hair to do that, so for some reason I thought that if my friend and I could take out my cornrows with scissors and a huge brush, my kinky hair would do the same. However, I am black as ever, and my hair is so thick that running a brush through it would be like biking through wet cement. On that day, I lost a lot of hair trying to be white. Funny how six years later, I am still trying to grow out my hair after that incident (and the relaxers and blow-outs too, but that is another story.)

Eventually, I understood that I will never be white.  And my friends will not be friends because they are popular or pretty. But, there were feelings of shame for being black. I really had trouble looking in the mirror and being happy with what I see. My school worsened my self esteem. On my 12th birthday in the sixth grade, I was waiting in the lunch line. As I was staring at the chicken on the platter, there was a tap on my back. This girl kept trying to talk to me while I was just trying to get some food. She kept on rambling, but I was so focused on that chicken that could have been in my stomach. This child kept running her mouth, and eventually she said something so ignorant. “Your nose is big because you black.” At first, I was not phased because one, I hear shit like that all the time, and two, I was hungry and food was more important to me than addressing that dumb comment. One of my close friends Charlie heard what Ms. I-don’t-have-an-off-button said, and she proceeded to tell the whole grade what happened. The Ms. Off-Button got in a lot of trouble which was a bonus, but unfortunately, I kept replaying the situation in my head. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. My nose became one of my biggest insecurities. As I went into middle school at Valley, racist comments were thrown at my face. My own friends would comment on the versatility of my hair. Whether it was braided, straightened, or had a weave, my white friends would always have something negative to say. With all that negativity, I really started hating myself.

Do people at this school only come for their friends’ appearance? Lol nope, they literally judge your wealth (or lack thereof) as well. It is shocking that kids in middle school would make fun of someone for living in a small house. These girls would feel so powerful for having the money for a big house. But I am just sitting here thinking, Your ten-year-old ass is not doing anything to make money, so why do you think you have the audacity to talk about other people’s social class? When I went to Hill, everyone lived in a relatively small house. Then I came to this superficial school, and children are out here comparing mansions… I would feel embarrassed inviting friends over because they would make remarks about my house like, “Don’t you feel crowded in here??” and I would just say in my head, Well I can move my arms and legs. I have the ability to walk around. Does it look like the walls are closing in or something, Ms. Privilege?

Now on top of my appearance and status, there is another issue. My personality. Don’t worry, I am not a mean person, but throughout middle school, my peers thought I was not “black enough.” First of all, the majority of my friends were not black, and they were kinda on the emo side. So, I spent a lot of time being with them and embracing emo music (I was already feeling depressed because of the way I looked and I ended up connecting with those songs.) I started to be made fun of by my black peers who are the complete opposite of me. They are outgoing, have the ability to twerk, listen to rap music, and they’re popular because of it. Fantastic. I am not white enough to be with the popular white kids or black enough to be with popular black kids. What does that make me? Raceless??

So there I was. Antisocial. Emo. Black. Ugly. Confused. At the start of eighth grade, I really couldn’t tell who I was looking at in the mirror.

I had to do something. The feelings of confusion and depression needed to go. There needed to be a good change around this heinous school.  There needed to be a good change within myself.

Let’s take it back to the beginning of my story. I am good at making people laugh. Not only my friends, but the rest of the people in the school. Comedy is the one thing that makes me feel like I know who I am. After all those hours of Kevin Hart and Kingsley videos, I decided to take my humor in front of larger groups of people. During my presentations in Chinese class, I was able to encourage my peers to laugh in a language that I don’t even understand that well. Before middle school ended, we were all forced to tell a story about our lives. Since my life is ridiculously hilarious, I managed to get a lot of laughs out of all my classmates. Once I started getting comfortable with my jokes, I started to actually gain confidence in myself.

I am now going into eleventh grade. The person I am now is completely different to the Hill girl who just stepped in the building several years ago. I am embracing my black beauty, and have found a group of friends who appreciate me for who I am rather than the stereotype I should be a part of. Am I 100% happy with my appearance? Nope, but now I am on a path where there is a possibility for me to achieve happiness. If I didn’t focus my energies on making people laugh, I could still be an emo black girl. Moral of the story is: there will always be shitty people who will make you feel less than. And if you are as sensitive as me, the comments will always hurt you. But once you’ve found something about yourself that you admire, the sky is the limit.

Leaving Hill transitioning to Valley was one of the most difficult experiences of my life. However, the whole process is shaping me into a developing superstar.

Hill has taught me to be a caring person, to treat everyone equally, to join together as one. Valley has taught me to fight back negativity with grit and a huge punch of comedy.

 

M.

The water was dirty. He could see the grime washing off with every move of his hands over his dirty body; specks of blood flaked off into the water and opened old wounds that he didn’t know he had. His toes poked against the surface of the water, hair slicked back with shampoo. Months without relaxation, and he was tense. His long curls were matted and dirty, their once shiny brown now a dirty black from the soot and soil in the places he was sleeping. When you are on the streets, you don’t look for luxury.

There was something so odd about being in a stranger’s house, a stranger’s bed. But Haven House was filled with strangers, was it not? No one here had known him before this had happened, and that was completely fine by him. He closed his eyes. He needed to stop thinking. He needed to stop thinking about all this. His momma’s words swirled in his mind as he lathered his arms up to wash away the grime from the streets, and his green eyes glanced around the neat bathroom.   

One: Talking about yourself in the third person makes things easier to handle. It’s like disassociation, this method, but it isn’t as intense. It can come and go as you please.

Two: Words never really mean anything. A promise is just air out of lungs. A promise can always be broken.

Three: He wasn’t worth her spit.

Four: The lord would save his soul if he would just stop calling himself a boy. He wasn’t a boy. He wasn’t a boy, he would never be a boy. Dreams like that aren’t meant to come true.

Take a deep breath. One more. Then another. Release. Wash the soap out of your hair and run your fingers over the bruises. Let the water drain from the tub and towel yourself off, watch as your skin slowly turns caramel again instead of the dirty brown.  Stop referring to yourself in third person. You are here, you are safe, you are here.  

I am here.

***

I step out onto the cold floor. My feet hit the linoleum and I stiffen as the hairs on my arms stand up. The towels are comforting as I wrap them around my form, and I remind myself that I am alive. I am a human being.  All my life, I have been told to be a good girl. My momma, with her teeth rotten and yellowed, spoke in harsh tones. I was brought into this world as a mistake, an accident waiting to happen. The moment he touched her, she told me once, her entire body was ignited in a high that the pills had never given her. And as a result, I became a life. I became alive.

She isn’t here, though. She’s somewhere a few towns over, working for her pay in a diner and winking at customers as she pours their coffee. At night she’ll shack up with whomever decides to have her, and she’ll get extra pay, and she’ll use it to rot her teeth even more until they fall out of her head like her Daddy’s did and his Daddy’s before him. It’s a never-ending, spiral addiction at its finest. My momma belongs on a drug PSA.

When she goes to church, though, that doesn’t matter. She washes her hands in the baptism tub and all her sins are gone. She is a new being, a deity of pure blood again. Gramma always told me that the second my Momma was born, Gramma knew she was “inauspicious.” She was the only one of her children who never dreamt of growing up to be something monumental.

There were nine. Stacy said she wanted to be a princess; Gilbert, an astronaut; Bimmie, a movie star; Eugene, a singer; Clarice, the president; the twins, secret agents. Pangea said she was meant for stardom. Momma just said she wanted to grow up.

***

I put on the clothes they gave me for bed and tie my hair back with a borrowed scrunchie, my tan hands fumbling with the thick waves as I reach for the electric razor. One of the other kids knocks on the door and I clean up my mess before opening it for them. His eyes glance over me, razor in hand. I recognize him from the front office. Devin. He has a soft face and red hair that brushes over his skull softly — in a way that makes him look sweet — but I get the feeling there’s an edge inside him, that he did some regrettable things to stay alive on the streets. Then again, we all did. That’s how they found us.

***

He reaches his hand out for the razor, quirking a brow at me as his deep voice fills the stiff air between us. It takes me a moment to process his offer to give me a haircut. My suspicion about his character is proven when he tells me my long hair makes me look like a girl.

He’s invalidating my existence already, and I’ve only just met him.

He seems like what I imagine my father to be like.

***

I sit down on the floor and pull at his shirt to tell him to sit, and he obliges and plugs in the razor for me. “You’ll have to be still so that I don’t nick you,” he says.

I nod, understanding. Before he turns it on, the tool emits a soft buzzing as he presses it against my skull, his other hand holding the back of my neck. I don’t like people touching me — but could I tell him that? He runs the razor over my head in a long streak, my hair falling onto my legs as he continues working to get my hair off.

“Damn.” He says, blowing off the razor. “You got that thick Indian hair, huh kid?” He asks, and I grit my teeth. It has always been this way. My thick hair, my Indian skin, my green eyes that Momma says my Pops gave me. She has blue eyes. They’re light and gentle, like a loving touch to the shoulder, and if you weren’t in her family you might even go as far as to say they looked kind.   

He lets me go, and I don’t even realize until I reach up to touch my head and feel the fuzz. My head is now bare, the locks all over my legs and the floor beneath them. Devin grins like he’s about to catch his prey. His teeth are all crooked, and they remind me of the man who works with my Momma and always offers me free milkshakes, since Momma told him they are my favorite. They’ve been working together since I was six, and until I was nine, I never realized what the milkshakes meant. I stopped liking milkshakes that year. I stopped going to the diner. I started wanting braces to fix my crooked teeth. The trouble with trauma is that, to this day, my gut still turns when I see him.

They got married last spring.

***

Devin leaves. I am still sitting on the floor, glancing down at the pale blue tiles on the bottom edges of the tub. As I crawl up to sit on the edge of the bathtub, I feel like a child again. This happens often, the feeling of reducing myself back into a smaller, naive version of myself. Most people like to talk about being young and only having to worry about things like coloring inside the lines, but I never had that luxury. Most often, I was wondering who would be sleeping next to me at night. I stand up, dust myself off, walk to the next room to grab a broom, and sweep my thick hair up and into a dustpan to throw it away. In Japan, they like to say that cutting your hair off is a form of letting the past go. Like cutting the pain away, as if it were a dead limb. In a way, it is. What I feel is a lot like having a ghost limb. Except, maybe, it’s not your own arm, but someone else’s — with a constant hand around your neck.

***

As I make my way downstairs to the office, my feet pad along the floor.  In the hallway, some of the doors are open; I see the other kids, straightening their rooms for the night. One girl, or I assume she’s a girl because of her fuzzy pajama pants, is putting her phone under her pillow and shutting off the lights. I leave the lights on, always, because there’s something vulnerable about being in the dark.

When I walk in, the woman at the desk starts talking to me. Her voice is softer than my momma’s constantly angry tone — it’s almost like the sound equivalent to melting butter. I really don’t understand half of what she’s saying, because I’m too focused on the way her lips curve upward in a sympathetic smile; one that I can tell she puts on for every kid here. She stands up, and I notice that she’s wearing a skirt. Her name tag says “Imogene”. Judging by her neck and her facial structure, she looks like an artist’s model. I remind myself to test her structure with my charcoals later, wondering if I’ll be able to swallow my anxiety long enough to ask for paper.  I follow after her as she leads me to a closet and hands me a pair of sheets, a comforter, and other bedding. The hallway walls are a pale yellow color with white trim. The cleanliness of it comforts me in a way, and for that I’m thankful. Especially because I’ll have to meet my new roommate in just a moment. Imogene knocks on the door to one of the rooms on the lower end of the hall, and a tall boy (or at least he seems like a boy) opens it and stares me down before stepping out of the way.

She instructs me to make my bed and put away what I have in my bag, then tells the taller youth to show me to the clothes’ room for new garments, since mine are fairly dirty and torn. He nods, and holds a hand out to me. It’s much bigger than my own, swallowing my tan fingers beneath his pale palm. Once the bedding is made, he shows me to the closet, tells me his name is Wyatt, and waits for me at the door as I grab a few shirts and jeans.

As we go back to the room, my eyes already start darting around the room. In my head, I take notes about my surroundings, already figuring out how easy it would be to run away if things go bad. There’s one window between our two beds, above a nightstand that I assume is to be shared. On the nightstand is one lamp, with a dirty white shade and a silver base that reflects the shining overhead light. The walls are a pale basche and the bedding is a soft yellow that makes it seem almost unreal, like something out of a retro movie about teenage runaways. Wyatt has small metal structures. They look like they’re mostly made out of tin cans, scattered around surfaces in the room. Different types of flowers are made by bending the thin metal, others are small robots and things of the sort. I was just starting to think of what his fascination with them might be when he pulls out a wallet, shaking it in my direction.

“If you touch this, or look through my things without my permission, shit will hit the fan. My side,” he pauses, draws a line with the toe of his sneaker. “Your side.” He gestures to my side of the room, then sits on his bed and starts stripping to get ready for bed. I quietly crawl into my bed.

“If possible, I’d like to leave the lamp on for the night. I’ll get something to replace it soon, but for right now I want it on if it doesn’t bother you,” I quietly request with my eyes trained on my nails. He nods, stands up to turn the lamp on, then shuts the bright overhead light off. The lamp is dim, but gives off just enough light for me to see if anyone walks into the door. Perfect.

There’s always been something about a dark room that made me nervous. The vulnerability of it, perhaps. That’s why the alleyways I slept in were comforting, in a way; there was always light. Trusting that whoever you’re sleeping with isn’t going to decide to strangle you in the middle of the night, or something just as awful. It’s never been easy on me; I’ve never dealt well with roommates. My trust is always tested by the second day.

Regardless, Wyatt seems decent so far. He doesn’t seem too alarming, though it’s a bit surprising that the facility leaders are actually allowing me to sleep in the same room as someone who is, more than likely, biologically male. It hadn’t really occurred to me that my gender identity would be respected, even in a place like this.  Even after the light is off and the lamp dims in the night, it takes me a while to go to sleep.

***

When the morning comes, it’s easy to pry myself from the bedsheets and convince my tired brain to let me calm down for a few seconds. My legs dangle over the mattress and I take a few deep breaths, looking at Wyatt still fast asleep on his bed. And then standing up, I make my way to the bathroom and brush my teeth with one of the unopened toothbrushes from the large container on the counter. I turn the water on in the bath tub and pick at the scabs on my arms, looking at my frail form and my freshly exposed features. I debate whether or not I should just leave now and save everyone the trouble of actually getting to know me. I’ve always thought like this; my brain is constantly poised for fight or flight. It’s tiring, at times, to be as on edge as I am.

***

I step into the bath, letting the warm water pool around my legs and slowly up to my stomach. There has always been something about questioning my existence while taking a bath that I find fitting. So, thinking about how life has been for the past few months, I start to come to a conclusion.

It’s like being a tadpole. In the large pond we all call life, there are frogs and fishes and so many things that are capable of eating you alive. And in order to stay alive long enough, to grow into a frog and make your way up the food chain, you first have to figure out how to maneuver your way around the pond without getting swallowed by so many bigger species. And once you finally do make your way up, you don’t have a choice but to prey on those smaller than you to survive. And I don’t want to do that, but it’s the only way to stay in the pond.

Sometimes I think maybe I should just give up now and save myself the trouble. Drowning is always a possibility, like a flashing emergency exit in the back of my skull telling me that if I REALLY need to leave, it’s always there. Drowning victims can only struggle on the surface of the water from 20 to 60 seconds, and once you’re sinking, you only have a matter of minutes to get yourself to the top again before everything dies and your light goes out for good.

The tub isn’t large enough to submerge my entire form without my nose poking through the surface of the water, so I rule out that option. I would rather stay alive than have to live with the embarrassment of getting caught in the middle of an attempt to drown myself in the bathtub of a youth home for troubled queer kids.

Nonetheless, I can feel the large hands of gravity pulling me down to the Hell my momma always talked about. It’s a soothing thought, eternal nonexistence, but I can’t entertain the thought for too long. If living is wishing to survive then I’m doing something incredibly wrong, because my chest continues to pulse and it doesn’t feel like a heart is actually there, even though I know it is. There’s a wasp nest in my head, and they constantly fling themselves against my skull, hoping that eventually they’ll break through. It won’t go away, making me second-guess my decision to live. The wasps want me to die more than I want myself to die. I feel, most of the time, like my head is a totally different city than my body. Thinking of  myself as something inanimate makes it easier to handle things that are plaguing me.

By now, the water has tinted my skin pinker than its normal brown hue, and I realize that I’ve probably spent the last thirty minutes thinking about something that isn’t any more than a headache. Someone is banging on the door telling me to get out so that they can get a shower, so I open the drain and watch as the water swirls out before standing up and drying off, tugging on my clothes and leaving the bathroom with a muttered apology.

I’ve only been diagnosed with a hand full of disorders, but none of them relate to being transgender. They all just happen to be side effects of my childhood, and I don’t see my gender, my desire to peel off these breasts and stuff my pants, as a side effect.  It’s more like a fate that waited to come to me. When I start down the hall, I see a man in a suit, and it seems like the entire weight of the world is pressing against my back telling me to run because men in suits never come just to shake your hand and tell you good job. It always means something serious.  I rush off to my room, put my things in the laundry bin, and pick at the scabs on my face as I look in the mirror. This has become religion for me, messing with my face every morning, trying to pick off the imperfections.

 My train of thought is interrupted when a woman walks in and tells me the psychiatrist is here to do a mental evaluation in order to make sure I’m a “fit” for the home. She assures me that it isn’t going to be my job to pay for the expenses and then ushers me out of the room, down the hall to where the man is standing with a clipboard in hand and pencils sticking out of his jacket pocket. I find myself starting to draw away.

His blazer is navy blue, and the shirt underneath is white with diagonal stripes that match his blazer and pants that are a light khaki. It’s unsettling how professional he looks, how rich he seems just by his fancy haircut and his outfit. Like he could come to this place dressed casually, or at least more casual than this, but he would rather not because he has fancy suits to spare. He shakes my hand, and it’s then that I notice his frame is much larger than mine. When his palm swallows mine, he gives me a smile that plainly reads “I’m only here to get paid so that I can keep buying these ridiculously expensive outfits, and I can already tell you’re fucked up” before holding the door to a small office open for me. I run over a list in my head, trying to reassure myself that it’s not going to end too badly. It can’t.

  • He’s only here to make sure I’m healthy. He isn’t going to make me feel bad if there is actually something wrong with me.
  • He’s seen worse people than me.
  • I have problems, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be fixed; being out of my momma’s house was the first step.
  • If I really want to, and if I put in the effort, I can get over what happened in my past and finally be a kid. I can stop worrying.
  • I’m safe here.

 

I’m standing at the edge of the doorway when I hear the front door to the house slam and two women trying to sternly usher someone out.  I look over to see what the commotion is all about, when an adult from the other room comes over and tries to hurry me into the office, giving the doctor a concerned look as she places a gentle hand on my shoulder. And that’s when I hear it. The Spanish cursing, her words sharp enough to cut through an artery, and I freeze as my momma comes into my view, her hollowed out cheekbones just as sharp as ever. If I had to guess, she and my stepfather got high right before they came. For now, though, my brain is stuck in panic mode. She figured out where I was and traveled all the way here. As she comes through the doorway, her husband is beside her, holding her hand tight, and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs, mostly directed at a nurse who’s trying to hold her back. From what I can tell, it looks like Imogene.

Momma is busy looking at the nurses but as she glances over to target another with her screeching yells, her eyes fix on me. I can tell she notices my freshly shaved head, and that she’s raging inside because of it. She knows better than to act angry towards me when I’m surrounded by professionals, though. She knows they have the authority to keep me out of her grip for good, and then what would she do? So she uses a softer tone, trying to let them know that all she wants is to get her little girl back. Trying to sound like a half decent mother:

“Marissa, baby,”

And that’s when it all snapped. That’s when I couldn’t take any more, and the voices in my head were all screaming, and I just couldn’t hold it in any longer, and there weren’t any tears. I couldn’t help it, I had to stop myself, I had to pause and make a new list, because that’s all I could do to stop myself from screaming at her. The tone of my own voice in my head, threatening to spill from my lips, was so threatening that I scared even myself.

  • I can be the boy I’ve always known I am, and she can’t change that.
  • Violence won’t change their minds.
  • My name doesn’t have to be Marissa if I don’t want it to be.
  • Everyone here, everyone in this house, is here to help. She can’t hurt me.
  • The restraining order is already in place, she shouldn’t be here in the first place. 

 

So I take a deep breath. I call myself down from the ledge of a psychotic episode, and I speak.

“It’s Michael.”  The proclamation of my new name is the last thing out of my mouth before I walk into the psychiatrist’s office. I watch the doctor lock the door behind us, while my momma keeps screaming as they drag her out of the house. But I know I can do this, I know I can tell him what’s wrong, and I know I can be honest. The last thing I hear is her promise that she’ll come back to get me, to make sure I know how much I’ve hurt our family and our “good name.” But if I know anything in this world, it’s that words never really mean anything.

A promise is just air out of lungs.

 

Death by Misadventure

Winnie’s short curls waved in the hot air. The ground was hot. The air was humid. She looked up at the figure beside her. Death looked back. A small smile spread across his face. Silence filled the space between them.

“You’re early,” Death finally said.

***

Alexander Martin crossed the street, his mind swirling with thoughts. He wiped away the tears building up under his round glasses. He stared down at his sneakers, anger and shame churning in his chest. In the distance, a horn sounded, growing closer yet staying in the back of Alex’s mind. His feet hit the pavement, one after the other, moving quickly but not quickly enough. Brakes screeched next to him, and he turned to see headlights inches from his face. His mind slowly processed the situation around him, but he felt the impact of the car slamming into his body before he could reach a single conclusion.

Alex awoke to find darkness surrounding him and a pit in his chest. He looked down at himself. Nothing had changed, except for his surroundings. He walked around, unsure what had happened. His last memory was of the car coming towards him. He put the clues together; he wasn’t at home, or school, and he had just been hit by a moving vehicle. Could he be in a coma? Or dead? The thought filled him with terror, and fear filled his bones, making his legs shake. His head spun, and he sat down on the cool ground, curling up and letting hot tears run down his cheeks and onto his jeans.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting in an eerie kind of way. He looked up to meet the eyes of a tall man wearing a black and red cloak. His eyes were golden, his face obscured in darkness. “Alexander,” he boomed. “Welcome to the afterlife.”

Alex stood, wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his jumper. “What’s happening to me?” he whispered. He studied the man’s attire, his face, his voice, his demeanor. He was terrifying, yet somehow comforting. Maybe anything could be comforting in this predicament.

“Think of yourself as an angel now,” the man said. “I am a spirit left to guide those who enter our world and send them on their way. That is your job, but for the living. You will be assigned a human to protect.”

“Protect?” Alex repeated. “From what?”

The man’s expression darkened. “Demons. Angry spirits setting out to avenge themselves. Spirits with a dangerous amount of power to wield.” He gave Alex a reassuring look. “Don’t worry. Such things are rare and can be resolved easily. Now that you’re caught up, let’s find you a human.” He walked off, as Alex struggled to keep up.

“Wait!” He cried. “Can the human hear me? See me? What if I mess up? What if I ruin their life?” His voice trailed away. As the person paused, the room began to twist and turn like a camera struggling to focus on an object. He looked in every direction in an attempt to make sense of what was happening. A small room came into focus, with hardwood floors covered in clothing, and a desk overflowing with books and papers. On the center of the floor sat a young girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with a notebook opened on her lap and a pencil grasped tightly in her hand. A quick look around showed the spirit in the ominous cloak had left. He was on his own.

Alex sat cross-legged on the floor next to her. The room was humid, a small fan on the desk blowing the girl’s short brown curls into her face. Her walls were a light yellow color, paint chipping and falling to the ground in some places. Small pencil marks and drawings covered the faded paint, barely noticeable from far away. She wore a light yellow blouse made of a thin, soft material. A halo of shoulder-length brown hair sat on her head in thick curls. Bangs nearly covered her eyes, but small flecks of green shot out at Alex every once and awhile. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her eyes narrowed and shoulders tense.

All of a sudden, she jumped to her feet, leaving the notebook open on the floor. She paced, her bare feet making the floorboards creak with every agitated step. Alex watched, intrigued. She paused and stared at a crack, next to the window covered by a small wire screen, in the wall. He stood next to her and stared at the wall, listening to the sounds of birds chirping in the distance and the girl’s heavy breathing. He turned to face her, a determined look on his face. Slowly, he reached out his arm to touch her. His hand seemed to go right through her without touching her at all.

She remained in the same position, completely unfazed. Alex looked down at his hand in disappointment and crossed the room to the desk. He plopped down on the floor in frustration, letting out a defeated sigh. His head knocked against the desk, but he felt no pain where he had hit the hard wooden object. A flurry of papers fell from the top of the desk and landed on the ground, making a small whooshing noise. The girl spun around in shock, looking around the empty room. Her eyes fell on Alex and quickly moved away, scanning the rest of the floor. She looked afraid, distrustful. Alex felt a small pang in his chest. She looked just like — no, better not to dwell on that. Not now, at least.

“That’s weird,” she whispered. Sitting down, she organized the papers into a small pile, then stood to put them back on the desk. Alex looked at the abandoned pencil and notebook on the floor and inspiration struck him. He began writing, quickly and quietly to ensure that she wouldn’t see him writing. By the desk, she was rearranging books and papers and creating a great amount of noise, just enough to conceal his pencil scratches. When he finished writing, he set the pencil aside and sat in the corner, watching. She grabbed the pencil and resumed her writing, pausing when she found his writing.

Hello, it read. I’m Alex. Sorry for dropping your papers. There’s no way to make this sound normal, but I died. Now I’m here, protecting you, and I’m completely lost. You can’t hear me or see me. But I’m here, and I’d rather not be alone in death as well as life.

She looked around in horror, and Alex shuddered in his corner. Small tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away furiously. Shame burned like an oven in Alex’s chest. He stood and retreated into the dark corners of his mind where he could forget about all the misfortune that had befallen him.

***

Alex spent a week learning about her. He didn’t attempt to communicate with her, but he could tell she was still curious by the way she waited for words to appear when she sat down to write or turned excitedly at any small sound. He learned her name was Winnie, she was sixteen, and she didn’t have many friends. She spent a great deal of time writing and drawing. She would write about her aspirations and thoughts and anything else that occurred in her life. She wrote about how she had moved from New York City to Columbus, Ohio, a small suburban haven away from the city life she was used to. She had lived in Columbus for four months.

One cool August day, Winnie was sitting on her porch watching birds fly above. Alex sat next to her, feeling very uncomfortable in the same yellow jumper he had been wearing since he died. He hadn’t figured out how to change his appearance yet. They sat in silence, until finally Winnie let out a frustrated sigh. “I know you’re here. Do something if you’re here. Show me a sign or something like that.” She pushed her hair away from her forehead, her eyes glimmering with excitement. Alex searched for some way to alert her of his presence. His eyes fell on a small rock sitting on the sidewalk, about the size of a nectarine. He picked it up, tossing it into the center of the cul-de-sac where Winnie’s house sat. Her eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and she ran after the rock. She held it in her hand, smiling widely. “I knew it,” she said. “I knew you were here.”

Alex smiled, her happiness spreading to him. She tossed the rock up and down, watching its journey intently. He barely noticed the world around him turning back to black, until it was all around him. He spun around, confused and scared.

“Winnie!” he shouted. He yelled her name again, then felt a cold hand turn him around. It was a boy, similar to him. He had an evil glint in his eyes, something malicious and almost demonic. Alex was taken aback and stepped away from him. “Who are you?”

The boy grinned. “Why, I’m shocked you don’t remember me. I certainly remember visiting you in your last moments.” He twisted and changed form, and suddenly resembled Winnie, though less joyful. “I’m a spirit, I died like you. You remind me of myself quite an amount, actually. Except you obey the rules.” He waved his hand and an image of Winnie appeared into darkness. “She’s not worth your time. You see, everyone says that she needs you, but she doesn’t. People die every day, they can replace you. Why not have some fun?”

Alex looked at the boy, shocked. Sure, he enjoyed looking after Winnie, but was it worth it? Besides, Winnie couldn’t even see him. “What do you mean, you visited me?”

He smiled slyly. “Well, I always love watching angry or troubled humans. You seemed plenty troubled that day.”

“What’s your name?” Alex asked.

“I used to be Benjamin,” he said, “though nobody has called me by that in centuries.”

Alex considered his words. “Is that when you died? Centuries ago?”

The boy nodded. “War,” he said solemnly. Alex looked at his appearance more closely, noticing for the first time that he was dressed in older-looking clothing — clothing covered in dirt and blood that had most likely been worn on a battlefield. Alex felt his blood churn just looking at the boy and picturing how his last moments must have been. “Anyways,” Benjamin said, clearing his throat, “we’re not here to talk about me. Nor are we here to talk about you. I’ve brought you here to talk about this girl you’ve been assigned.”

“Her name is Winnie,” Alex interjected.

“This is why I’m here,” Benjamin said. “You’re becoming attached to her. It’s rather pitiful to watch. You need to stop pretending that you’re still alive, because you’re not.”

“What are you suggesting I do?”

“Prove to me you aren’t becoming more attached than you should,” Benjamin said. “Prove you won’t go down the same paths I watched you take before.” Their surroundings began to twist and turn, Benjamin’s appearance becoming blurry and unfocused. Slowly, Winnie’s house appeared with her sitting on the stoop as if she had never moved. He raced towards her, feeling like his feet were stuck in quicksand. He reached the step where she sat and sat down, breathing heavily. Next to him, Winnie stared at the sky, lost in thought.

“Winnie?” Alex said tentatively, knowing fully she wouldn’t hear him. “Are you there, somewhere? I’m in trouble. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared of becoming attached to you. I’m scared of trusting Benjamin. I’m scared.” He covered his face with his hands and shook his head. “I’m lost, completely and utterly lost.”

Winnie looked in his direction in confusion. “Alex?” she whispered. “I feel as though I can hear someone talking in the back of my mind, but I don’t know whether to trust it.”

Alex looked up in surprise. “Could it be because you know I’m here? Because you’re more open minded and welcomed to the idea of communicating with me?” He stood, energy and excitement coursing through him. He looked down at his body, which had begun to become slightly transparent the longer he spent as a spirit. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to make himself solid again by some random chance. “Please work,” he whispered, “God, please let this work.”

He heard a small gasp from Winnie’s direction, and opened his eyes to see her staring at him, her eyes wide and full of wonder. He looked down at his body, which was no longer see-through. She stood and walked towards him, a smile spreading across her face. He felt a tingling, excited feeling in his stomach.

“Hello, Alex,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake. “Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.”

***

“What happened to you? Why are you here? What’s death like?” Winnie asked intently. The pair were sitting on the floor of Winnie’s room, a bag of chips open between them. Alex tried to pick one up, but he felt lightheaded and decided against it. He was already pushing his limits by remaining somewhat visible.

“I got hit by a car,” Alex replied.

“Did you see it coming? Did you try to get away?”

“I was thinking about something,” Alex answered, feeling uncomfortable. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What were you thinking about?” Winnie pressed.

“My girlfriend,” Alex blurted. “Anyways, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I’m Winnie, I’m sixteen, I just moved here from New York City because my parents got divorced and my mom wanted to get away from the city life. Besides, she has family here. I have no friends yet, but hopefully I’ll make some. I would assume you already know some of these things after watching me.”

Alex nodded along as she spoke, every word reminding him of his life. He had spent it in a small corner of Manhattan for his entire life, one nearly absent of cars and teenagers. He had gone to a high school fairly nearby, about thirty minutes by cab depending on traffic. He had been standing just outside the school when she had approached him, her long brown curls blowing in the wind, her lips painted a bright red. Guilt was evident on her face, though she was trying hard to hide it. She gave him a hug, short and emotionless.

“Jen!” came a voice from behind them. She pulled away to face a tall, attractive boy in a basketball jersey. She skipped over to him with a glowing smile on her face and kissed his cheek. A red smear of lipstick remained where her lips had rested. Alex felt a dull pang in his chest, a feeling of betrayal and loneliness filling him. He started away, his eyes to the ground, tears welling.

Then pain, immense pain. And then darkness. Then Winnie, who was now staring at him with a concerned look. “Memories,” Alex whispered. “They resurface sometimes.” Her hair was just as curly as Jen’s, though a quarter of the length. Her face was free of makeup, with only her freckles and the occasional spot of acne. He reached out to touch one of her curls, but he barely felt the hair against his skin. He wiped his eyes, though no tears had formed. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I can do certain things, insignificant things, like walk and talk, yet I’m disconnected still. I’m here, but I’m not truly here. It’s like Benjamin said, I’m not alive anymore.”

“Who’s Benjamin?” Winnie asked.

“He’s a ghost,” replied Alex. “He travels around, trying to wreak havoc on humans and ghosts alike. I don’t know much about him yet, but I’m not sure if I trust him.”

“Of course you shouldn’t trust him!” Winnie cried. “He could be plotting with the devil or something.”

“No one has mentioned the devil,” Alex mumbled. “Heck, I don’t even know if he exists. At least not in this part of the afterlife.” He considered the figure that had met him when he first entered the afterlife. Could he have been a devil of sorts? He seemed fairly opposed to devils, though.

Winnie shuddered. “This whole thing gives me the creeps. I don’t like the sound of this Benjamin character. I suggest you keep your distance.” Alex nodded, trying to reassure her. He decided it wouldn’t be wise to tell Winnie what Benjamin had told him.

That night, Alex went outside to walk around the neighborhood. He relaxed and allowed himself to be invisible as he explored, not wanting to be suspicious. After circling the block a few times, he returned to see Winnie’s mother sitting on the steps, talking on the phone. The door was closed. Alex was stuck. He drew closer, catching small bits of conversation.

“How’s dad doing?” She asked. “Are you enjoying the summer? When does school start again?” as she nodded and conversed,  Alex sat down next to her to try and listen to the person on the other end. It was a girl with a high-pitched, hysterical voice. She sounded as if she had been crying, or still was. “I know it’s hard, sweetie,” the woman replied. “It’s always hard to lose someone, especially someone so close. I wish Winnie and I could be there to comfort you and pay our respects, though we didn’t know him as well as you did. You dated for quite awhile, after all.”

Alex’s legs went numb, and he tried to steady himself on the side of the house. Millions of thoughts spun his mind like a record.  “I loved him, I really did. He was so sweet. It’s high school, everyone experiments. I can’t help but feel it’s my fault he died. He wouldn’t have gone storming off if not for me. He wouldn’t have been staring at the ground instead of the street.”

His heart was beating faster and faster, and panic grabbed his heart and squeezed it. He found it hard to breathe, or think, or function properly.

“They’re talking about me,” he gasped. “She’s talking to Jen. Winnie is Jen’s sister. That’s why I got assigned to her; her sister is overwhelmed with guilt. I’ve broken a family that’s broken enough on its own.” He paced the porch, no longer paying attention to whether he could be seen. He opened the door and stormed in, scaling the stairs and entering Winnie’s room. She looked up groggily when he entered.

“Alex?” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Your sister,” Alex said. “I’ve ruined your sister’s life.”

“What do you mean?” Winnie said.

“I dated your sister,” Alex whispered, breathless. “She cheated on me and I went storming off. I got hit by a car, and she’s driving herself mad with guilt.”

Winnie’s eyes were wide and full of sadness. She reached for Alex, but before she could the world had spun and twisted back to a black emptiness. In front of Alex stood Benjamin, a big smile on his face. “I must admit,” he laughed, “that was one of the best things I’ve witnessed.”

Alex walked towards the boy and punched him across the face. He fell to the ground, crying out in pain and anger.

“How could you?” Alex yelled. “Why, why do you feel so happy watching someone drown in their misery? Why do you prey on me in life and death? And Winnie! What did she do to you?”

Benjamin clutched his eye. “Don’t you see? I was forced into a war I didn’t want to fight, sent to my death in a battlefield. I wasn’t given a chance at life. No love, no happiness. So I see you, a boy with everything I ever longed for but had stolen from me. And you waltz around taking this for granted. And you have the audacity to try and act alive again! Winnie will never love you, because she is alive and you aren’t. So don’t you see? I do this because I despise you, Alexander. I despise you from the very depths of my soul; if you weren’t dead, I would kill you.”

Alex looked at him, anger pulsing in his chest. “What are you going to do, then?

Benjamin thought for a moment, then grinned maliciously. “I can hurt the people you love.” He started disappearing, and Alex followed. They appeared next to a somewhat busy street, in the daytime. Winnie was walking down the crosswalk, looking at her phone.

“How did you do that?” Alex exclaimed. “How do you have so much power?”

Benjamin laughed. “I told you to join me, Alexander.” They watched as a truck barreled towards the young girl crossing the street. The driver was on his phone, typing something. He was far over the speed limit. Alex screamed Winnie’s name, and she turned to face him. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, and his name almost left her lips. Alex ran to her, but Benjamin grabbed his arm. Time seemed to move slower as the light turned yellow, then bright red, like the blood on Benjamin’s shirt.

The horn shook him from his thoughts, and it was so loud the earth seemed to shake beneath him. Winnie turned, her eyes filling with fear and panic as she tried to escape. The truck slammed into her small body and came to a halting stop a few moments later. Emptiness consumed him. It was the same emptiness and hopelessness he’d felt when Jen ran to greet the other boy. Here he was, in the position she had been in, the cause of Winnie’s death but powerless to stop it.

The ground fell away, and darkness devoured him. He was in the same room he had appeared in after death, but something was different. There were people present. The man who had greeted him upon arrival stood a few feet away, a sad look on his face. He refused to meet Alex’s eyes. On the floor beside him, Benjamin was curled up in fear, his face discolored from where Alex had punched him. Alex was proud at this sight.

In the distance, a red light shone, illuminating a small ledge jutting out of the wall. Winnie sat at the top, her feet dangling down into the darkness. A tall figure stood beside her, humanlike in appearance but with an air of magic around him. He wore a shiny golden cape, and scars covered his gnarled face to the point where he no longer looked human. His eyes were black as the night sky, with small flecks of light like stars dancing in his pupils.

“You’re early,” the figure said, a smile spreading across his face. His voice was deep and chilling, yet kind and gentle.

Winnie looked at her sneakers, the wind pushing her hair into her face. “I’m still not sure what’s happening,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The figure sat down on the ledge, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You’re dead, Winnifred. I am Death, the unseen power your kind try their best to escape. This is my home, my domain, where I send spirits on their way. But some of these spirits are restless. They seek life, and instead bring about death.” He looked at Benjamin, his eyes burning with anger. “It seems a spirit here today had too much power for his own good.”

Winnie looked down, her eyes falling on Alex. “What happens to Alex now?”

Death sighed. “He was supposed to protect you. I spent quite a long time consulting my brother,” he gestured to the figure in the red and black cape, who nodded, “about where to send you. We decided on Winnifred because your fate and that of her family were intertwined, but we didn’t want to be too direct by sending you to her sister. This method is a test to deviate the trustworthy from the untrustworthy and decide which shall be given a happy afterlife. By my own rules, he hasn’t qualified.”

Winnie stood up angrily. “But it’s not his fault I died! It’s his!” She pointed at Benjamin, who buried his head in his hands. “There has to be some other solution.”

Death looked at Alex, pity in his dark eyes. “I suppose we could send Benjamin in his place, but we have a greater issue; you aren’t meant to meet me yet.” He looked over at his brother. “Fate, any ideas?”

Fate tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know of any foolproof way to fix this, but we could always try another way.” He strode over to Alex, reaching out to touch him but deciding against it. “It’s not easy, but it might work.”

“Tell me,” Death said impatiently.

“We could reverse time, using Benjamin as a battery of sorts, and prevent Alex from dying in the first place. This will reverse the timeline. He will die another way, but hopefully we won’t have to see him in a long while,” Fate said. His face fell. “Though you wouldn’t remember Winnie.”

It felt like a slap in the face. Winnie, with whom he had spent countless days, bonding, talking, and more, had become his closest friend, a person he felt as if he had known for his entire life though he had only met her after its end.

“What are we waiting for?” Death cried. “If it’ll work, we have to try immediately.” He disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Winnie alone on the ledge. She dropped about six feet to the ground and ran over to Alex, tears streaming down her face. She hugged him tightly. “I don’t want to forget you,” she sobbed.

“Neither do I,” Alex said, hugging her back. “But you deserve a full life, and I won’t let myself deny you of that.” He pulled away to face her, wiping the tears from her face. A small smile formed at the corners of his mouth. He reached out to touch her, pushing it away from her forehead to show her green eyes. His heart melted thinking of Jen, and how similar they were, though something about Winnie felt different. She made him feel at home, like he had the power to live forever. She was genuine, and full of emotion, and made his thoughts fuzzy and disjointed.

“Alex, Winnie,” Fate said from behind them. “We were about to begin, if you wanted to say a goodbye of sorts.” He turned away from them, as if trying to give them as much privacy as possible in the situation.

Alex turned back to Winnie. He felt anxiety course through his veins, like red-hot snakes eating away at his insides.

“Goodbye, Winnie,” he whispered, planting a small kiss on her forehead. Her face turned red, her eyes soft and full of affection. White light filled the dark room, nearly blinding Alex. He kept his eyes open, squinting through the light to focus on Winnie’s face as it slowly disappeared.

***

She skipped over to him, a glowing smile on her face, and kissed his cheek. A red smear of lipstick remained where her lips had rested. Alex felt a dull pang in his chest, a feeling of betrayal and loneliness filling him. A small voice in his head told him to shake it off, and he decided to listen.

“Whatever, Jen,” he said. “Life is about experiments, right?” He gave them a glowing smile and walked away from the school, his spirits dampened yet still high.

That night, Jen sent him a text message reading, “Want to hang out? My family is visiting and I don’t want to invite anyone they wouldn’t like.”

Alex smiled at the message, excited at the idea of a new friendship. “Sure,” he replied. After arranging the plans with Jen, he pulled on an old yellow jumper and walked over to her house. He knocked on the door, checking the time on his phone anxiously and adjusting his glasses. Worries swam through his mind. Were his clothes too casual? Too formal? What if her family hated him?

The doorknob turned and the door swung back to reveal a girl about a head shorter than him, hair identical to Jen’s brown curls other than the fact it had been cut into a shoulder-length bob and bangs. Her eyes were green, the color of grass with flecks of brown like the soil it resided in. She wore a pink blouse made of light material and red sneakers. Something about her was familiar to Alex, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I’m Alex,” he said. “I’m Jen’s friend. I don’t think we’ve met, have we?”

She shook her head, her hair blowing in her face. Alex felt more memories come back to him, but there was still a barricade preventing them from returning fully. “I’m Winnie,” she said. “I’m Jen’s sister, but I moved to Ohio. I visit every once and awhile.”

Alex nodded. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I have a weird feeling we’ve met before, but regardless I’d like to get to know you.”

Winnie laughed. “You know, I had that feeling too. Strange, isn’t it? Anyways, people are probably waiting for me, so I’ll have to go socialize or something.”

Alex smiled, his anxiety calming down ever so slightly. “Mind if I tag along?”

Winnie grinned, her cheeks turning pink. She stepped aside to let Alex in, and the two disappeared into the house, talking like old friends. The door slammed shut behind them, sending an echo down the street. The world operated as normal, everyone moving and interacting seamlessly without any inkling of the change that had taken place. Alex and Winnie’s lives had been entwined by Fate, twisted together with great care. Far in the distance, beyond the realm of the living, he watched proudly at what he had accomplished.


THE END

 

The Curious Cottage

It stood with white brick, tattered with dirt and age. The door was a rustic red, gaping open in an ivy, spiraled archway. Over the years, it developed rotting wood, the pungent smell of dead rats, creaky floorboards, and the decay of things that had not been touched in decades. This only became clear when inside the house, but nobody dared to take a single step on the property. There were windows looking out at the top of the small cottage. These windows were dirty and cracked, yet dark. There were big holes where the windows had been broken, but all that could be seen from afar was infinite empty space, like a black hole had swallowed everything that made the house a standard place to live. The front door was always open, as if there was no force strong enough to make it move just a single inch. Through that red, paint-peeled doorway, a chair was in view. A single chair of the most repulsing nature. What used to be a large, wooden structure had turned into a rotting, discolored, shriveling pile of wood.  

The hill towered at the very perimeter of town. The mossy grass was such a vibrant green; it was as if it had been raining everyday for a year. But it never rained in this dry town. In the center of the village, amongst the small shops and homes, the air was cool and clear.  Around the hill, the air was thick with humidity. This had sparked rumors with the older folks in town, claiming that if one older than 60 breathed in that toxic air, it would stop their heart within minutes.  

The one elementary school in town was like something out of a storybook. It had red brick intertwined with chalk-filled grout and was always bustling with animated kids. The classrooms were filled with colorful plastic chairs, and the work of fellow students. During snack time, even the youngest kids would talk about that eerie cottage. They said that the house was haunted with ghosts and evil spirits. The older kids would go along with this, mainly as a joke to scare the little ones. Deep down, however, they too had their suspicions about the house.  

Some of the mothers and fathers of the town would go to the local coffee shop after dropping their kids off at school. This early in the morning, they could see fog from the morning dew smuggling the hill so only a miniscule portion of the house was seen. Around the circular, wooden tables, steaming coffee in hand, they would converse.  

“I don’t want my children going anywhere near that place,” a concerned mother would say.

“I always thought the disappearance of that young girl 10 years ago was linked to that house,” a father would chime in.  

Some of the other parents would try to change the subject, too uncomfortable talking about a cottage that could make their own loved children go missing.  

It was like they already knew that the new kid in town would let his curiosities get the best of him. It was inevitable. Having not lived there for long, this boy could not have heard the countless rumors and stories about the house. All that was given was a warning to not go near the cottage on the mossy hill. No explanation, just a sharp warning.

The moving truck drove smoothly into town on a sunny Saturday morning. Trailing the truck was a blue van, a family car.  But something was off about this family. From the moment the vehicles came to a halt at the friendly blue house, the parents were screaming nasty things at each other and to their son, Troy. With a broad structure, standing at a height of 5’9, he looked older than he was. Merely 13 years old, Troy had to learn to be tough. It was just expected of him when his family moved every two years.

When Troy was in the grossest, grimiest homes, he imagined that he was living in the biggest, most luxurious ones. When he was at a new school and had no friends to talk to, he imagined that he was back home, playing basketball with his friends he had made before he had to pack up his life to move every two years. After talking to the woman who came over with a welcome cake, Troy had something new to think about.

“Welcome!” she had said.

“Hey,” Troy had said while reluctantly opening the door.  

“Well, look at you! You look like you would get along with my boys. How old are you?”

“I’m 13.”

“Oh, you’re still so young! You can come out and explore the town… but don’t go into that cottage on the hill,” her tone dropped significantly, showing a more serious side of her.  

“What cottage? Why?” Troy had asked, his interest suddenly peaked.  

“It is for your own safety, just stay away — Alright, I have to get going now. Say hello to your parents for me!”  

And with that, the woman was gone, and Troy was left at the doorway with cake in hand and curiosity skyrocketing.  

Now Troy sat on the sturdy steps of his front porch and ate the remaining bits of the cake he had all but devoured. He looked up at the picturesque blue sky and watched the clouds move across his view. He felt the smooth, cold concrete underneath his fingers, identical to all the houses on his street. Cookie cutter houses they were, alike in size and shape. There was something calming about looking at the similar houses. Troy became happy with the idea that if all the houses were perfect and pretty, including his, maybe his family would mold to become just like the other families in those houses too.

He almost began to feel comfortable sitting on that hard, cold porch when his father came clambering down the stairs of the house and out the front door.

“What are doing? You don’t expect us to do all the unpacking while you sit here enjoying yourself do you?” he boomed.  

He leaned down, so close to Troy that he could smell the alcohol in his breath.  

“No, Sir,” Troy murmured, rolling his eyes.  

He immediately hoped that his dad wouldn’t notice. But he did.

“You don’t get to roll your eyes at me. Come on.”

He hastily grabbed Troy by the collar of his shirt and dragged him inside, his muscles bulging as if the weight of Troy was the equivalent of a feather. Troy curled his hand into a fist, debating the possibility of finally fighting back. But he didn’t. He never does.  

After staying his first weekend in town, Troy finally had to go to school. He was used to coming part way into the year, but he never quite got used to the smirks and stares that accompanied being the new kid. The long, sharp trill of an alarm clock started Troy’s morning.  Just like he had done before every other school, he got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and quickly grabbed his backpack on the way out. On his short walk to school, Troy’s eyes stayed fixated on the glimpse of the cottage that he could see from the rocky path.  He didn’t know exactly what was in that house, but he wanted to know.  

Troy climbed his way up the wide concrete steps of the school. The doors were propped open with bright, plastic chairs, and he could hear the noise of the other kids lingering. As he walked inside, everything seemed overwhelming. The sounds of eager kids, the aroma of sandwiches and lunch food, and the colorful array of clothing darting all over the hallways into the classrooms. It was like he was moving in fast motion, from the awkward conversation with the principal to being sat in a math classroom with a dozen other 13-year-olds. Things slowed down when he had been asked to introduce himself.  

He shyly stood up and mumbled, “Um… hi. I’m Troy. Um… I moved here last weekend.”  

“I. Um. Don’t care,” a rather plump boy mocked.  

The class exploded into giggles and snorts. Troy sank into his seat and looked down at his shoes. They looked unclean and on the cusp of falling apart.  He decided to focus on that for the rest of class instead of the immature boy or the number sequences that danced across the chalkboard in front of him. The bell rang, dismissing the students for lunch. Startled, Troy jumped out of his seat and gathered his things in a frenzy. He came out of the classroom, unsure where to go. Troy followed the herd of kids running outside for lunch on a warm day.  He sat on a plastic bench by himself, watching the commotion as the tables filled up with hungry students.  

“Look who it is! Shy boy!” the plump boy yelled, sitting on the bench right next to Troy.  

His friends huddled around them, watching as they stifled their laughter.  

“Come with us,” another boy said.  

Before Troy could respond, he was yanked off of the bench and dragged to the warped wooden fence that encased the lunch area.  

“Climb.”

Troy frowned, contemplating the situation. He knew that if he didn’t go with them, he would be bullied more than ever. He started climbing. He turned his head to see if any teachers were looking, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The group of boys hopped down on the other side of the fence, dirt cushioning their falls. They took off running, leaving Troy to trail behind them. Troy was fast and caught up with them quickly. It was only when they came to a stop, jagged breathing, that he realized where they were. Chills crept up his spine as he took in the sight of the towering cottage. It felt as if the whole town fell silent as they all stood there, bewildered.  

“I bet you wouldn’t go into that house. Probably too scared!” Another boy from the pack taunted Troy.  

Troy took a step back, a look of terror washed over his face.

“Yeah, come on. What are you waiting for?” the boy that had called Troy out in math class said, pushing Troy closer to the bottom of the hill.  

Troy had not heard any of the rumors about the house, so more than anything, he was curious. He was not dumb though and saw the way that the other boys were looking at the house. Each of their legs trembling, faces calm, but eyes alert and scared.  

“Okay,” he agreed, gaining confidence.  

He was slightly excited to see what was in that cottage and if he could do that, and prove his bravery to the boys, maybe his life in this town would be bearable. Taking a deep breath, Troy began to trudge up the hill.  

“No way!” a voice from behind him exclaimed in surprise.  

Troy focused on his shoes again, which were mostly submerged in mud, as he made his way through the moss. Finally, he reached the top of the hill.  

Up close, the cottage looked much bigger, more intimidating. Troy stood frozen in his spot, trapped by the eerie silence. The air felt humid. Toxic. He breathed heavily, trying to gain the courage to take one step closer to the cottage. He did. As he eased his way to the front door, he swore he could hear sounds coming from inside. Maybe there really were sounds, or maybe it was all in his head. The red door was ajar as always, so Troy slipped through.  

“What do we do?” one of the boys said, freaked out.  

He put his arms behind his head and crouched over.

“I don’t know! I didn’t think he would actually go in,” another one said.  

The worry-stricken kids clustered together and craned their necks to see the cottage.  Their hearts raced as they tried to see him through the cracked windows. Troy had walked into the cottage in a way the boys had never seen. He was confident. Head held high, walking into the unknown, he needed to prove something to himself, to the boys, to his family. He had walked into the curious cottage, and the boys were left outside.

 

The Bell Tower (Chapter One)

The air smelled musty, and not a single gust of wind could be felt. The only sound was a lone crow’s call; the broken sound, the only sense of company in the tower. The taste of dust felt heavy on my tongue. The bell was rusted with years of age and rain with no usage. Once rung, the bell resounded with years of age and tire.

“Cassandra!”    

“Cassandra! Where are you? Mother wants us to be at Madame’s for tea!”

I sighed. There wasn’t a single time I could escape up to the tower in my imagination. There was always something to do, something to attend, some tea party my mother needed me to go to. I opened my eyes to see my sister dash into my room.

“Cassandra! There you are. Don’t you know what time it is? It’s much too late to still be in bed!”

 This was routine by now. Every Saturday morning at 11:34, my sister dashes in to reprimand me for wasting time. Elle was always the one to adhere to the rules. I fathom she didn’t even know how much fun it was to bend the rules every so often.

“I was already awake, Elle, though I doubt anyone a mile ‘round is still sleeping after the racket you made coming up here.”

Elle rolled her eyes.

Then, her voice softer, she she said, “Get up already, Cass. We really need to get going. You know how Madame gets when we arrive late to tea.”

Madame Bartmellow was one of Mother’s friends, and she always invited us to tea on Saturdays. How I wished I could do something else on Saturdays, like my older brother, Samuel. When he wasn’t at the family manor in the countryside, he got to stay home with Mother and Father. But even Sammy insisted I go. Madame lived a block away, but Mother made us ride in the carriage anyhow.

“It looks refined!” She always exclaims. “I know you’d prefer to walk, but I wouldn’t like you to catch cold.”

It may be cold in London, but Mother simply did not understand how to appreciate the adventure in life. The only thing closely resembling adventure that she approved of was reading adventure novels. I do love those mystery novels. I only wished that something would happen to me like that! This need for adventure was why I was always trying to escape to the old belltower. It seemed so real in my mind, and there was always so much detail when I thought about it, that it seems like a memory. I realized Elle was looking at me expectantly. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

About half an hour later, I was in the dining room, ready to head out to the carriage. Elle was on my right, complaining about how long I took to get ready, and Mother was bustling out of the parlor with a worried expression on her face.

Mother was always worrying about something or another. I didn’t take it to mean much, especially when it came from Henry, the butler Father hired a month prior. In the four weeks he had worked in our household, he already told Mother about five events, that were supposedly happening, but never did occur.

“Henry told me that there seems to be some commotion going on outside. I don’t exactly know what is happening, but do try to stay out of trouble while you’re out.”

Mother may have been anxious, but little did I know that the “little commotion” was actually going to forever change the course of my life.

 

The Factory

The factory was the most beautiful building in town. It stood proudly at the corner of 17th and Orlando Street. It was a treasure to the people of the town. To a passersby, it was obvious that it used to be a church. It had beautiful stained glass windows in the most vibrant colors, making it stand out in the otherwise dull cityscape. If you stood inside, you could see rainbow light coming through the windows. The big red doors were intimidating to all who looked; they acted as a barrier rather than an entrance.

Although the neighborhood was worn down, the factory created interest, breathing curiosity into everyone who looked upon it.

The front of the factory was built with strong, brown bricks, now painted over several times from years of being passed down from owner to owner. This time, it was painted crisp white. It hadn’t been retouched in years, and the paint was starting to chip. The previous colors shone through.

No one had been in the factory for years; the floors needed dusting, and the brush had grown out enough to look almost as though it was protecting the factory from intruders. There were dolls sitting in the windows, slowly decaying, but their little white shoes still shone bright.

Everyone knew it was a doll factory, it had the words “D LL FAC O Y” with certain letters missing due to age. It was written in bold, yellow letters embossed on a black awning on the north facing side of the building. This awning had been a newer addition to the factory. Many older folks had complained. The factory was a historical building, and the awning added a level of tackiness to the complex. But others ignored the awning. They didn’t let it distract them from the mere beauty of the building.

Perhaps, the building reminded the elderly of a more simpler time: a time when people would actually talk to one another, a time when people wouldn’t feel bare without their cellphones. Maybe that’s why they stood so strongly against renovations to the factory. It was the oldest building in town. It was almost a time machine, grasping people’s attention and briefly taking them back to that simple time, then quickly releasing them back into their plain lives.

But none of it really mattered, that was many years ago. The factory hadn’t made any dolls in a while.

Just around the corner, past the factory, there was a field. The field was filled with beautiful flowers. Most days, those flowers would be left on the doorstep of the factory. No one knew who did it, or why they did, but this added to the mystery of the factory. There were always rumors circling around town about the mysterious flowers. There would never be dead flowers on the doorstep, always vividly colored fresh ones.

In a way, the factory thanked the flowers. It thanked the flowers for always being there. No one else ever was.

That’s what I had in common with the factory, no one was ever there for me when I was little.

When I was growing up, nothing was given to me. My parents hadn’t died; they just didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t a troublesome kid, but I was someone easily forgotten. I knew where they lived, just down the street past the old candy store in a little blue row-house. And when I ran away at age 15, there were no search parties, and no one came looking for me. Deep down inside, I knew I only ran away to see how much they cared about me. Turns out they didn’t care at all. By then, I was used to it. Sometimes, I would walk up to their front porch on my midnight walks. But I would never try to go inside. Too much time had passed, and I knew they didn’t want me. But I didn’t hate them for it. I tried to see the good and beauty in life rather than the bad and the ugly. In this case, it was hard to see what good had come out of it. But I like to think that I was better off on my own.

This year, I would’ve been a junior in high school. That is, if I had stayed in school. I had a small group of friends that I had met freshman year. One of my friends, Jun, was 18 and had very rich parents. They had bought a house for her last year. I had asked her why and she simply replied with, “they wanted me out of their hair.” She wasn’t spoiled, but her parents gave her things rather than attention. Most nights I’d stay with Jun. I stayed with her mainly because she didn’t care either. We weren’t that close. But, she was kind.

I didn’t like being alone in the house, although, often times I was. Being alone let my thoughts take over; it let my thoughts run wild, and it let me think of the darker times I had faced. I didn’t like it one bit.

I loved to stroll around town. It wasn’t a pretty place, but it was familiar and consistent. I liked that about our town, nothing ever changed. Most days, when I was walking back to Jun’s house from town, I would pass by the factory. Only this time, I stopped. I stared. Something about it was different. Now, the brush wasn’t trying to keep me out; it was almost inviting me in. It had arranged itself along the pathway leading up to the factory. I had never seen it like this before.

I stepped closer to the doors, and they didn’t intimidate me. Rather than pushing me away, the doors were left cracked open. I could see light trying to escape from inside the factory. No one had been inside for years, at least not that I knew of, and now the doors were suddenly unlocked.

It was midnight. I loved to take walks at midnight, when no one was around, when the air was fresh, and the sky was pitch black. I looked around just in case someone was watching.

No one was, so I opened the doors.

I almost fell on my face from using too much force. The doors were a lot lighter than they appeared.

Inside, it looked different than what I had expected. The outside was naturally beautiful, but the inside… The inside of the factory was extravagantly decorated, with candles lit in all corners of the room. The chandeliers hung from the ceiling and a table set for two sat between a conveyor belt and an assembly table. I thought this was the weirdest part. I wondered why the table was set up like this. I was alone. There was no need for it. The wind blew through the now opened windows, sending a chill through my whole body. It all felt off. The moonlight gracefully drifted through the room. Suddenly, uneasiness crept over me. The first hallway looked almost like a tunnel, only you couldn’t see light at the end of it.

It looked like someone, or maybe something, had been living here. I felt like someone was trying to make me feel at home and this feeling was off putting.

I walked down the long, dark hallway, waiting for someone to jump out at me, something to creep up when I least expected it.

“Hello? Is anybody in here?” I asked, not really wanting to hear a response.

No answer.

I heard my voice echo through the hallway for a lot longer than it should have. It was too quiet. The horror-movie-like setting wasn’t what scared me the most. It was the fact that this place felt alive; this place felt happy to have me there. But, it wouldn’t be happy to see me leave. I wanted to run, but something was keeping me there. I should’ve never stepped foot in the factory, yet here I was.

Now, the air felt heavy, and it smelled stale. I looked around to see why and realised that all the windows were now shut. I tried to open the door but it wouldn’t budge.

“Why won’t you open?” I screamed, my fists banging on the door.

But, of course, no response.

And suddenly, I stopped banging on the door, I stood for a moment thinking. Why did I want to leave? What did I really want?

Maybe that’s what it wanted me to think. I had accepted my fate. I knew I wasn’t going to get out.

I walked around the factory for a few minutes, examining every shattered piece of glass, every lost screw.

I was strangely at peace.

I stopped walking. Then, quickly, picked up my pace and started again.

I had been walking around for hours now. Hours turned to days, days turned into weeks and as time went on, my heart got heavier and my steps became weaker. I had lost my grasp of time.

The last thing I saw was a doll, and it looked strangely familiar.

Years passed and no one came looking for me. My joints stiffened. My little white shoes stayed bright. My now-porcelain skin felt cold. And, just like that, everyone forgot about me. Just as my parents had.

The factory was the most beautiful building in town. It still stands at the corner of 17th and Orlando Street, with its magnificent collection of dolls.

 

Chasing Stars

The night sky plasters a layer of darkness above us like a ceiling. We lie stretched out on a blanket, our phones inside the house and turned off. The air is still, as the fireflies appear sporadically and then dip back shyly into the darkness. I’m not thinking about my potential mosquito bites or how tired I’ll be tomorrow. Instead, I listen to the low hum of my sister’s voice as she describes the stars we’re lying under.

“Does it comfort you?” She hesitates with a tone of anticipation. “Does it comfort you to know that there is a whole unknown world out there?” It’s a pretty random question, even for her. But everything feels so uncomplicated that it seems like the right conversation to have.

“I don’t know,” I respond, still staring straight up at the sky. “I guess it’s both comforting and terrifying.”  

“Terrifying?” She exclaims, shocked. “How can it be terrifying?”

“Well, it makes you realize that you don’t really matter. Like, none of this — not you, not me, not the people we know or the things we do. I mean, what are we compared to the stars that will still be here millions of years from now?”

She’s silent for a moment, slowly processing what I’d said. We’re only two years apart, but sometimes it feels like four. Difference in age creates one hole in our relationship, but our personality differences open many more. Although I was born only one minute after my twin brother, I am the first-born in spirit. I’m the classic type-A perfectionist. Don’t worry, I’m working on it.

Despite our holey swiss cheese relationship, we’re as close as the cars on the I-95. I always pack her bag when we go on trips because if she packs hers, she’ll forget underwear. Oh, and we share a room, so that definitely adds to the dynamic. I go from picking up the clothes she left strewn over the floor, to singing every lyric of Summer Nights with her at 11:00 pm, in our parallel twin beds.

Lily is like a sparkler. She’s the kind of light that you hesitate before igniting. Not because you don’t want to, but rather, because it’s so forceful, so full. She is so full. Not physically, she’s actually long and lanky. But her presence is all encompassing. And her light makes you want to trace your name into the darkness with it. She turns her face towards me, her freckly nose crinkling thoughtfully.  

“I guess that makes a little sense,” she says, though I know she’s still skeptical.

“To me it’s exciting. It’s exciting to know that there is so much left to discover. So many corners of the earth to explore.”

“So couldn’t it be scary to think you might never see those corners?” I pose.

“Well,” she starts confidently, as if she had already thought of that, “that’s why you have to go seeking. You have to seek out the corners, not expect them to fall in your lap.”

“Lily, where is this coming from?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“In health today, we talked about cancer,” she says.

“Oh,” I say. Our grandfather had been diagnosed with bladder cancer four years ago. It was tragic, but there was a level of detachment between us and the issue, so it   wasn’t  something we talked about plainly.

“Let’s get out of here” I say, hoping to change the subject. It was only nearing 10:00 pm, so Brookville Supermarket was still open.

“We can get ice cream at Brookeville.”

“I hope they have bubblegum,” she says.

As we fold up the blanket and step into our flip flops, we take one more look at the stars. We walk inside quietly, and Lily sets the blanket back down on the couch. I grab my wallet from the counter, and we walk out the front door, closing it softly.

As we walk up the street, the sound of our flip flops create a casual rhythm. Lily sprints ahead for a moment and then slows down; she thinks she can run faster in the dark. I think she’s crazy, good crazy. When we reach the market, the renowned “7- Up” and “Brookeville Super” signs are illuminated on the side of the building.

The bell on the door jingles as we open it. We step into the coolness that occupies most grocery stores, and it wraps around us like an old friend. The florescent lighting takes a few seconds to adjust to, but once I do, I am overwhelmed with familiarity. I can almost feel the weight of my polka-dotted fifth grade backpack and the cool glass of the ice cream counter on my nose as I point to coffee, my favorite flavor. My eyes find their way to the dark curls of Ryan Gibson, standing at the cash register. His green eyes flicker to the corner of the store where we stand, and when he sees us, a smile spreads across his face.

“Hey, Harper,” he says eagerly. Ryan and I went to elementary school together. Although we parted ways for high school, we used to be good friends. We haven’t talked in awhile, and it’s surprising to see him here.  

“Ryan! When did you start working here?” I ask, feeling a little like I too should have a job.

“Two weeks ago. My mom wanted me to have a job for the summer, so I thought I’d start now.” It was late May, and at school, you could tell everyone was checked out. Once the warm weather arrived in Chevy Chase, school felt wrong.

“I’m impressed,” I answer, examining his face, still shocked at how much older he looked.

“We came for ice cream,” says Lily, impatiently.

“Of course, Lily, what can I get you?” says Ryan, making his way over to the ice cream counter.

“Bubblegum in a small cone please,” she says.

“And for you?” He asks, looking towards me.

“Coffee in a small cup,” I answer, my eyes trained on the ice cream scooper. We pay for our ice cream, and I tell Ryan I’ll see him around. We sit at the table outside and eat our ice cream in comfortable silence. Lily has around an inch left of her cone so I eat it, then regret it when I realize coffee and bubblegum are not a good match. We walk home to the beat of our flip flops and the reassuring feeling that tomorrow is Saturday, and we can sleep in.

 

I wake up to the sound of pots and pans and the low drone of the espresso machine. I check my phone; it’s 8:42. When I come downstairs, everyone looks at me. Lily, my mom, and my twin brother, Nick, are all seated at the table. My dad is frothing the milk for my mom’s coffee, and there’s a stiffness in the room.

“Does anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” I ask, confused. I wanted to tell them that I was thinking about getting a job for the summer, maybe at Brookeville market. I could spend time with Ryan and serve ice cream to cute little kids. But it felt like the wrong time with this awkward vibe.

“We have some news,” my mom starts, “I want you to remember that this could be much worse and that you are very lucky kids.”

“What happened?” says Lily, concerned. “Did you lose your job? Are you guys getting divorced?”

“No, no, Lily, stop it.” My mom says.

“Then what? You’re freaking me out,” says Lily, abandoning her cereal, her eyes wide.

“We are moving to Santa Barbara, to be with my dad,” my mom says, slowly.

I focus on the ceiling fan, whipping around in endless circles. I try to follow one of the petals, but lose it after a few seconds. I feel like somehow I should have predicted this, or maybe it just seems that way when you get shocking news. I look out the small window above our kitchen sink. The glass makes the outside scenery look like a painting. My grandfather paints.

“For the summer?” I break in, my mind spinning in a million different directions. “Or for the school year too?”

“You guys will go to Santa Barbara High School starting September,” she says. “We leave June 16th.” I think about what a serious decision this is to make. To move our family of five from Chevy Chase, Maryland to Santa Barbara, California. This must mean that my grandfather’s situation has worsened.

I find a new petal to focus on and watch as it spins.

“How is he?” I ask, tentatively.

“The treatments are moving slower than we expected,” my dad says, handing my mom her coffee in her favorite Cafe De Flore mug. “We want to help your grandmother and spend as much time with them as we can.”

“Can I still play golf out there?” asks Nick, the school record-setting state champion. He crosses his arms, tanned and muscular from playing and caddying.

“Of course,” my mom says. “We want to make the switch as smooth as possible for you guys; we know it’s tough to switch high schools and move across the country.”

“Imagine moving from California to the Philippines as a sophomore,” my dad says. He moved around a lot growing up.

“It won’t be for too long either,” my mom says, “just until things get better.” My mom and dad are total opposites. My mom, raised on Park and 93rd on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, went to Spence. My dad, raised in Ohio, Sacramento, and the Philippines, went to UC Riverside, and then lived in Tonga with the Peace Corps.

“And the beach and school are just a short walk from the house,” my dad continues, “west coast, best coast.” Lily and I exchange glances. The beach did sound nice.

“Harper and I can pretend we’re Cali girls,” Lily says, her big blue eyes light up with the magical idea.

“Well, thanks for listening and cooperating,” my mom says, standing up from her chair and folding her robe around her floral pajamas. My sister and I climb the stairs to our shared room. I sit on my unmade bed and peer over at Lily. Grabbing her glasses from her nightside table, my sister sits down in the same position, and we face each other.

“Well, at least you’ll get to see a new corner,” I say, only half joking. The reality of starting over completely in a new school was starting to sink in.

“You’re right,” she says delighted, “Harper, we can go to the beach whenever we want — ”

“Lily,” I interrupt, “you know how hard this is going to be, right? Finding our people, our crowd at a new high school. I mean, I’m going to be a junior this fall. I’m zooming straight into the infamous tunnel that is junior year all by myself. You’ll be doing the same as a sophomore. Like, yes, we’re seeing a new corner, but we didn’t seek this one out. It fell into our laps.”

Lily keeps her eyes trained on the pink stringlets of our shag carpet as she starts to speak.

“Harper,” she starts, “you can’t be picky with the cards you’ve been dealt, or rather the corners. Some fall into your lap and some you seek and find. This one happened to fall into our lap. We get to live in California. Think of every cancer patient out there who can’t live to the full extent that they’d wish to. What would they tell you? Embrace the change and live it up in Santa Barbara, no matter how awkward the first day of school is. Or worry about the rocky start to your junior year?”

I look over at the vintage Vogue covers and New Yorker prints hanging on the wall above our desk and tell myself that I am not the only star in the sky. People everywhere, under the same stars, face incredibly tough hardship — I am up to a mere change of scenery. Especially if it involves brilliant blue Pacific waves.

“I guess it will be pretty cool to start over,” I say. “To meet people who know nothing about me.”

“That’s more like it,” Lily says, getting out of bed and unplugging her phone from the charger.

Later that night, I walk into the sunroom to find Lily lying down on the couch, clad in sweatpants and a quarter zip, a remote clutched in her hand as she scrolls through movie options on Netflix.

I set my stuff down on the table, and, without turning around, Lily asks “Blood in the Water or Stranger by the Lake?”

Stranger by the Lake,” I respond, intrigued.

Blood in the Water it is,” she says, flashing me a sneaky smile before turning back to the face the screen.

I’m lying in my bed almost asleep, in that half-awake state where only the slightest sound can draw you right back into wakefulness. My eyelashes flutter against my sleep mask. The door to our room opens with an unforgiving screech, and Lily steps into the darkness to get into her bed. I’m awake now, but I don’t feel like talking, so I pretend I was never broken out of my almost-sleeping state.

And just as I am about to drift off completely, Lily whispers, “Harper, I’m scared.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

Sunday came and went and so did the last week of school. Telling my friends that I was moving across the country felt wrong, like I was playing a part or reading a script. This didn’t feel real. It wasn’t so much that I would miss them terribly — I don’t rely on my friends as much as most people do. It was more about familiarity and comfort. I’m comfortable, but that is going to change when the plane takes off June 16th.

It’s Friday, June 9th, and I’ve just finished my sophomore year. I’m in the passenger seat of my mom’s silver Volkswagen bug, my hand stretched out the window, fingers curling to catch the 30 mph Connecticut Avenue breeze. It’s weird how we wish for summer and then once we get there, we’re stuck. Stuck in the feeling that we should be doing all the things we put off until now. The screen of my phone lights up with a notification that reads “This iPhone hasn’t been backed up in 97 weeks.” I make a mental note to back my photos up on my laptop later. My mom drops me off at the Silver Diner, where my friends and I order french toast and milkshakes from the all day brunch menu. Jade, Stella, and I sit in our usual booth by the window. Jade to my left and Stella across from me. Stella has shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, and a slight, dancer’s frame. She is wild and fearlessly independent. Jade is more like me, cautious and mindful. Yet she’s also fierce and scrappy. Her eyes are light brown with specks of golden light that often emerge.

The milkshakes arrive, the extras in tall frosty silver cups.

“Cheers to junior year,” says Stella, raising her glass.

“And cheers to a west coast Harper,” says Jade.

“Guys, please don’t forget about me” I say, looking each of them in the eye.

“Girl, that’s impossible,” Stella says.

“Yeah, we’ll Facetime you a ton and keep you caught up on school gossip. You’ll meet surfer boys and come back all tan, looking like a Brandy Melville model,” Jade gushes.

“She’s right,” says Stella, “you’re gonna be so exotic when you return, I think we should be worried about you forgetting us.”

“Oh stop it,” I chuckle, glad that I came out tonight and quickly realizing that this may be one of the last times we’re all together before I leave.
“So I leave in a week,” I say, seriously.

“Let’s make it the best one yet,” Jade says, twirling her spoon.

And it did end up being one of the best. We spent our days at the pool, letting the sun seep into our skin and our tan lines stand out further. We would go for long drives at night with no destination in mind and with all the windows down. We would stay up ‘til 3:00 in the morning talking, and then sleep in ‘til 1:00 pm. We would talk about our futures: the near, the far, and every place in between.

 

The next thing I know, I’m walking down the narrow aisle of the plane, looking for 24C. I sit down in the middle seat, then trade with Lily for the aisle. I take my book, earbuds and phone out of my bag, then set it under the seat in front of me. I am about to fasten my seatbelt when something — someone catches my eye. I stare at the head of dark curls I am almost sure belongs to none other than… Ryan Gibson?

“Ryan,” I call out, hoping to get his attention. What was he doing on this flight?

“Ma’am, I’m gonna need you to be quiet,” the flight attendant says. Her red hair looks familiar. Is that… ? My ninth grade biology teacher? Since when is she a flight attendant?

“Ryan,” I say again, louder this time.

“I’m listening to a podcast, do you mind keeping it down?” says a blonde girl across the aisle that looks my age. Wait..

“Stella?” I ask, “what are you doing on this flight? Why are there so many people I know on this flight?”

“You don’t remember?” she asks. “We’re coming with you to Santa Barbara. We’re all coming with you.”

There is a beeping in my ear that won’t stop. Everything feels so hazy, so off. I turn around and see three of my classmates in the row behind me. I face the front of the plane and Ryan turns around; I think he sees me. The beeping noise won’t stop, and when I focus on it, I realize it’s my alarm. I roll over in bed and open my eyes. I sit up to grab my phone and press stop on the alarm. It’s 6:00 am, June 16th and our plane takes off, for real, in three hours.

Our carry-on bags inch across the belt and under the metal detector. We stack our plastic bins and put our shoes back on. My dad is sporting his usual worried travel face as we follow him to the gate. When the weight of the plane is lifted and the wheels take off, I am overwhelmed with a heartbreaking nostalgia. It feels as though it has been chasing me ever since I woke up this morning, and when we took off, it finally caught me. When the ground we walked on minutes ago becomes a speck in the distance, I try to focus on The Stranger by Albert Camus, instead. But every couple of pages, my mind drifts back to what I had just left behind.  

The sprawling hills and immaculate landscapes create a scenic and smooth drive to my grandparents’ house in Montecito. We pull into the gravel driveway and when I see the weeping willow in the front yard, I instantly remember this place. After greeting my grandmother in the kitchen, I wander into my grandfather’s bedroom. I hang by the doorway, not wanting to disturb him as I watch the steady rising and falling of his chest.

Later, Lily and I decide to investigate the shed in the yard. We find two beach bikes and take them out for a spin. I had forgotten what it feels like to bike down a long windy road in Montecito, with the yellow light of the late evening sun shining down on us, leaving dappled patterns in the road.

I hear a crunching noise and keep biking, not thinking much of it. Lily slows to a stop at a crosswalk and pulls out her phone to see what time it is. I reach into my pocket to do the same, only there is nothing for my fingers to clasp onto. I get off my bike and walk back up the same way we came down as the harshness of the situation casts a shadow on my preceding happy mood. I find my phone face down on the ground and pick it up. The screen is shattered into tiny pieces of glass, and when I push the home button, there is no reaction. We walk our bikes home in shock. I think of that iCloud storage notification, and all the photos I had just lost.

That day, we had run away from our comfort zones and into the unknown. The seemingly magical, sparkly unknown, that involved beaches and surfer boys and yellow evening sunlight. We ran straight into new lives. New lives with cracked phones, lost memories, awkwardness, and unfamiliarity. The start to my junior year was rocky, but I found my crowd, and I found my way. It wasn’t easy, but I did. As for Lily, she got to experience a new corner; we all did. Lily and I unfold one of our grandparent’s big fluffy blankets, and set it onto the grass in their backyard. We each lay down, our feet hanging off the blanket, tickled by the grass. I take a deep breath and gaze up at the stars.

“I changed my mind about the unknown world out there,” says Lily, declaratively. “I think it’s good that we don’t know which corners will fall into our laps.”

“Why’d you change your mind?” I ask, softly.

“Because I realized, if we had been seeking a different corner, maybe we wouldn’t have been given this one. Maybe we are supposed to wait and see whatever random ones fall into our laps.”

“You’re right,” I say, shocked at how clear and simple her message was.

My eyes fixate on the stars, scattered throughout the dark sky. Some shine brighter than others, but each and every one is important.

 

The Backpack Mishap

The ringing of a bell. Screaming. The end of the school year at Townsend Harris High School. Saying goodbye.

“Alex, wait you forgot your backpack. Here you go.”

“Thanks, Joe. I need to go home. My mom is going to kill me for being late,” replied Alex.

Joe was Alex’s best friend. Alex ran home. His long legs covered ground quickly. He realized that his backpack was heavier than normal. He ran through a mental checklist of what he had in his backpack: pens and his history book. It felt heavier than that. He finally got home and went to have a snack with his mom and brother in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Alex’s brother, Bob, told him about his day at Hunter College.

He went upstairs and opened his backpack. He saw his papers, mostly B’s with one A. When Alex picked up his heaviest book, World History, he found a sheet of paper, addressed to himself, with directions to go to a building on West 32nd street. Alex debated whether to go to that building or not. He finally decided to go. He had read a lot of mystery books when he was younger, and he wanted to try to solve this one.

At midnight, he opened his bedroom window and climbed onto the fire escape. He walked down the fire escape. He ran until he got to a tall, faded, red-brick building. There was no traffic in this area which, he thought, was strange.

“Is this the place?” Alex wondered out loud.

Alex knocked on the door. Suddenly, a trap door opened underneath him! Alex screamed, but no one heard him. He fell on a long, twisty slide. The slide let him off in a room far below the street.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

The room was dark, with no visible way out. Then, a bear roared, and the lights came on. A huge seven-foot brown bear lumbered toward him. Alex looked around for anything to defend himself. All he saw was a broom. He decided to use the broom. He swung the broom from side to side as the bear approached. He jabbed at the bear who turned tail and ran. Alex examined the room. He saw a hallway near where he stood. Alex ran into the hallway. He looked into all the rooms hoping to see someone. Then he heard a voice that sounded like Joe’s.

It said, “Stop looking around in there. We are over here.”

Alex followed the voice to a room at the end of the hallway. Joe and a large man were sitting on a sleek black leather couch studded with silver buttons.

“I see you got my little present and passed our test with the bear. I work for MHDO — Mayhem and Destruction Order. This is my boss, Mr. Writer,” Joe said. “We have a job proposal. You will get good pay, and the jobs are not hard. Just sign here.”

Joe handed Alex a huge packet.

“Should I read through this 1,000 page packet?” asked Alex.

“Let me give you a brief summary. If you sign here, you give us permission to do whatever we want to you. Your salary is between pages 857-859. If you have any questions call us at 877-241-KILL. That’s 877-241-KILL. Oh, and by the way, that packet is 1,001 pages long. You didn’t count the deductions page. Yeah, just sign here,” Joe replied.

“Okay,” Alex said, feeling trapped.

“You start today. Your first mission is to blow up a building on Broadway. Here are your explosives. Just toss this sphere through a broken window. To blow this up ,you press this red button.”

Along with the sphere, Joe handed Alex something that looked a bit like a joystick for a video game.

“Will anyone get hurt?”

“No, the building is abandoned.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“That is not your business. If you want to stay safe, do what we say.”

Alex did not want to get hurt, so he agreed. He picked up the bag and walked over to a stairway. Alex emerged on West 32nd street. It was around one, and the streets were deserted.  He walked  to the building on Broadway. Alex took the explosives out and threw the bomb through a broken window. A police officer saw Alex and ordered him to get on the ground. When Alex didn’t do that, they got in a fist fight. Alex got battered and bruised but managed to knock out the officer. Alex ran down Broadway. When he got about a mile away, he detonated the bomb. The sound of sirens filled the air. He went back to West 32nd street. He reported that he had completed his mission and was told to go back to his home.

Alex snuck into his bedroom and stared wistfully at the wall, wondering what to do next. After completing his mission for MHDO, his body was all black and blue. His clothes were shredded and torn. He wondered if he should work for them again. Alex felt he would never fully recover from his experience with them.

Suddenly Alex heard a distant voice saying, “Wake up, wake up.”

Alex woke up and groaned, “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry, honey, you just had a fever. I heard you talking in your sleep, so I came into check on you,” his mom replied.

“So it was all a dream?”

“Yes, you can go back to sleep.”

 

Autumn

The sunlight hit him like a wave, crashing over his skin, irritating his face. He shielded his eyes from the wave, squinting, and pulled his hood over his head. When he disappeared within the security of that hood, shading his eyes and looking at the ground, the world faded away, smearing into a big blur. He took a step forward, then another. Shifting the weight of his pack on his shoulders, he set off down the sidewalk, staring directly at the flat concrete.

As the boy took flat, silent steps, people whispered, almost inaudibly. They stopped and stared at him, giving him suspicious looks. But, inside the hood, he didn’t hear anything, and he just kept walking. Inch by inch, step by step, mile by mile, he walked. One foot in front of the other, like a tightrope walker. His face was shielded by the hood, and all he saw was his feet, moving over and over.

Finally, he looked up, and the smeared world began to come into focus. A bright red object, thin as paper and quiet as the teardrop of a mouse, fluttered to the floor.

He picked it up, the flaming red leaf, and turned it over. It was beautiful, and it gave him the shivers. Beautiful things weren’t his style. But as he looked back down, looked forward to keep walking, he saw the sidewalk was covered with the things. Orange embers fell from the trees, coating the ground, and the flames licked up the side of his black sweatshirt and jeans, coating them in flames.

He sighed, sank to the ground, and closed his eyes. He would stay here a while, letting the trees cover him in fire, and once he was aflame, he would go back.

And his eyes closed, and he leaned against a tree, and he was asleep.

Almost effortlessly, Chloe floated through the hall on dainty, light feet. As she swooshed past, her hair a gleaming black river, every head in the hallway stopped and stared. Her beauty she resented, with her pale skin, soft pink cheeks, and dark eyes.

She had wished for shorter hair, for when it was cropped up by her neck, it hid her face from prying eyes, and she had wished for less freckles, for when they were effortlessly splattered across her face like they were, they shone and gleamed. She also wished for darker eyelashes to hide her dazzling brown eyes. She didn’t want to be noticed like she was. Chloe didn’t want to be known for being beautiful; she wanted to be known for her intelligence, her strength, her kindness.

As she dashed lightly across the hallway, she caught the eye of a boy, mid-class. He stopped writing and stared, mouth agape. She crossed her eyes at him and kept going.

She threw open the doors and sang to the world, charming skeptical faces with a dazzling smile and wave. As she flitted along the sidewalk, almost sprinting but not quite, she looked around and saw the tree grove, fiery and perfect. She went towards the grove, where she hugged her favorite tree and watched as a flaming leaf fell off of it. She picked up the leaf and stuck it into her shirt pocket, close to her heart.

Chloe walked along the tree path, marveling at the trees. What had once been green was aflame with bright oranges and yellows, and it looked like the branches themselves were on fire.

Her long hair swished down her back with every step she took, and the leaves on the ground were nearly crunching, but not yet. As she took ginger steps among the sidewalk, coated with beauty, she sighed. These leaves were beautiful, she knew, and she’d love to take one home, but she couldn’t bear to press it under pounds and pounds of dictionaries, letting the beauty become a flat picture whose memory was gone; nor could she bear seeing it on the fireplace and letting it shrivel up until it was nothing but dust.

The fiery leaves were in the most dangerous place, and she’d better do something quick: conserve it forever in a realm beyond reach, or toss it over her shoulder and forget? Both options seemed awful to her, and she found herself thinking about how the leaves got stuck with such an unfortunate fate. It isn’t their fault, she thought, marveling at the leaves. Why does the fire deserve to be quenched?

She re-pocketed her flaming treasure. It doesn’t matter now, Chloe thought, standing up from a sitting position she didn’t know she’d taken. It doesn’t matter. Now, the leaf is there, and it’s tangible, and I can enjoy it; and I will cross that rickety, creaky, dangerous bridge when I get to the cliffside.

She stumbled; a pile of leaves, deliberately placed, was in front of her foot, tripping her and sending her sprawling. Chloe regained a standing position, brushing herself off flusteredly and coming back to poke the pile of leaves. The heap was heavy and, when the leaves shifted, she caught a glimpse of dark gray.

So it was a rock, then. But it was an awfully big rock to be lying in the middle of a sidewalk like that, even one that was covered by leaves.

Chloe began to prod, then tug at it. As the leaves shifted, it revealed not only a rock, but a shoe… she smiled satisfactorily. Someone must have lost their shoe. But as she began to walk away, she remembered the heaviness of it; it couldn’t have been just a shoe. And indeed, when she went back and peered at that shoe, she saw the smooth white curve of a sock.

And the sock joined into a leg and, as she stepped back, she saw an entire sleeping person, concealed by the tongues of fire that fell from the branches.

As she took her hand and brushed leaves off of the contour of the head, off of the face and the arms, she gasped.

And she grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

Caleb woke with someone shaking his shoulders violently.

It was not the most pleasant of ways to wake up.

As his vision came into focus and pinpointed itself on a stunning face that portrayed a perfect frown, his mouth twisted into a grin, then a frown, then a grin again.

Before he could speak, though, she stomped her foot and shook her perfect head angrily.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here.” She glared at him until he squirmed.

Caleb relaxed, took a few deep breaths, then said icily, “You’re not, either.”

Her face contorted visibly with surprise, then parried his response, “People are looking for you!”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. He knew by the way she sounded defensive and turned away from him. But he sighed and slid down the trunk of the tree until he touched base with the ground. He tossed his head like a horse, flipping the hair out of his eyes, and sighed huffily like a teenager would.

“I appreciate your concern, Princess.”

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, dripping with sarcasm, he sealed his lips. Even he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Chloe’s face flushed with anger, and she simply took him by the arm and dragged him. For a princess, she sure is strong, he thought and was about to voice his concern for his throbbing bicep before he remembered he should probably shut up.

But he couldn’t help himself from wondering why he’d never noticed her strength before. Sure, they’d spent lots of time together, and both had dark hair, almost black. But other than that, they were nothing alike. Their eyes were both a dark brown; but as hers shone light, his reminded people of a swirling black hole: cold, and unforgiving.

And he tried to remind himself as he was being pulled along by the “princess.” That was his nature. He didn’t want to be warm and bubbly. He was himself: cold and dark and distant. Also, he didn’t care about things, which is an extremely hard thing to keep your mind on when you are being dragged by your best friend to meet your demise. He tried to think about being cold and distant. He thought about cold, distant things, like stale cornbread or frozen pancakes.

And then, his posture became cold and distant. Instead of being dragged, he tried to make it look like he was being gently guided, and it took a long time to find a position that portrayed a confident image. She tossed her head huffily, and he noticed how her hair rolled down her back as she adjusted her grip to squeeze tighter.

Chloe burst through the door of the school, lugged him in like a heavy package, and shut it, sealing them inside. She simply dragged him through the empty hallsCaleb thanked his lucky stars that class was in sessionand into an empty classroom.

He exploded.

A blur of loud yelling, insults, and anger occupied the next few minutes. He noticed how her cheeks burned when she was angry or insulted, and he made a pact to notice things like that in the future.

And then, as the flames of the argument died down, each of them became lost in their own world. He looked outside and remembered only a few hours earlier when he had arrived at the tree grove and how, secretly, he had loved the fire that engulfed the trees, had loved the fall colors and how they swirled around him. How could someone cold love fire? How could someone dark love color?

He resolved to answer this question, and he knew there had to be a way. There had to be a way to be both cold and hot, to be both dark and light.

A glance at his best friend confirmed this theory; as she clenched and unclenched her fists, her blood seemed to run both cold and hot at the same time. He wondered how this was possible. He knew it was possible, as he had experienced it; he just didn’t know how.

He liked how the trees had engulfed him in flames. But he wanted to be an ice cube, too. It was hard to be in-between.

She stared into his face and sighed. She could feel herself heating up to the boiling point. She loved him as a friend, of course she did. How can best friends not like each other?

And then, she thought the better of it. Many best friends don’t like each other, she thought. But I do.

It was hard sometimes, though. He was like a dragon. The reptile was cold-blooded; sometimes icy and distant, sometimes warm and affectionate. He seemed to adapt to whatever was around him, like how a dragon lying in the sun was warm and easy to please, while one shivering in the snow was cold and irritable.

Yes, she thought, a dragon. He’d like that. She opened her mouth to tell him so, and her best friend shot her a look that could slice through a dragon’s hide in seconds.

She turned away and stood up, looking at her leaf one last time. It had already begun to darken, taking on a brown hue, but it was still undeniably an ember in her hands.

She pocketed it and set off for the tree grove again, trying to bury herself in fire.

She knew the risks. How could she not? She had just rescued her own best friend from the fiery flames of school-less life. But, she remembered as she ran back towards the grove, that moment before she had found him, when she thought she had been alone, had been one of the happiest moments of her life.

When she arrived, the leaves were still falling hard, and a soft, orange carpet had already begun to form beneath her feet. It was comfy, and she curled up on it, and tears began to fall from her face.

Instantaneously, she was asleep.

He ran. Oh, how he ran. And, as he ran, he thought.

His mind, like a compass, pointed him toward the tree grove, so that’s where he would go. But why? There wasn’t a reason in the world why he would be chasing after the very girl who dragged him by the arm twenty minutes ago. He stopped, only to rub his bicep. It still throbbed, but dramatically less.

Caleb had no idea why he ran. But he did. And he found himself not caring; I run because I run. I go because I go. It’s quite simple really.

And he ran towards the furnace of burning wood. He knew she would be there.

And at that moment, he perfected his theory: It’s impossible to be both cold and hot at the same time. But, he thought, you can be one and then the other.

Yes, he was an ice cube. The flames melted him, and he became a puddle, which soon thereafter became a frozen puddle. The cycle of cold, hot, cold again made him smile. That was right. It felt right.

He arrived at the grove, and he saw her hair, a black river that fanned out beneath her. She was curled up, like a wolf sleeping in a den.

He wanted to shake her awake. Chloe! Chloe, come in, Chloe!

But for once, he ignored what he wanted. He did what was right. He did it because of his heart, because of the sudden surge of love he felt for the sleeping Chloe, helpless and confused.

And he curled his fingers underneath her, and lifted her up, and carried the sleeping girl all the way home.

 

The Unicorn and The Cloud

One day, in the Kingdom of Unicorns, a special unicorn was born. He was named Magenta because of his bright pink color. His coat was such a popping neon color, it was almost hard to look at. His parents loved him, but as he grew older, he started to notice how his parents treated him a bit differently than his sister. Magenta would look up at the clouds in the sky and wish he could be like them. They were cheerful, and they reflected the sunlight. And they were the same color as all the other unicorns. Magenta was scolded for looking up at the clouds because unicorns and clouds are enemies.

“I wish I could be like them,” he would sigh, and his parents would yell at him.

“Why would you say that? Clouds are our enemies! They block the sunlight! They are dangerous, and we could die without sunlight!”

This made him feel very sad.

On the same day Magenta was born, a little cloud formed in the sky. He was a dark gray color, and the sunlight wouldn’t bounce off of him. This made him sad and, sometimes, he would cry, which is something clouds aren’t allowed to do unless they are given that job by the king and queen.

“You will make all the creatures on the ground hate us even more if you keep up that behavior!” his parents scolded him.

His only wish was to be a happy cloud like all the other kid clouds. He was bullied a lot, and he was given the nickname “Gloomy” and, after a while, that became his name. Even his parents called him that.

Gloomy had always looked at the beautiful, white unicorns with awe. Their horns glinted in the sunlight. Gloomy always wondered what they looked like up close. He had only been flying over their kingdom once. But that’s all it took. He was caught and scolded about the dangers of unicorns.

Clouds and unicorns were enemies. There was a long history of why they have fought.

Unicorns need sunlight. Their horns are made to absorb it, and the sun in their horns is what gives them their healing power. Without their power, unicorns would be very weak, and they could die because unicorns are naturally frail. Their healing power keeps them strong. Of course, clouds block the sun. So unicorns are afraid of the clouds. Now, this could have been easily solved a long time ago if the clouds would just stay away from the unicorns. But unicorns began shooting burning sun lasers when they had maximum health and, when the unicorns would become afraid, they would kill the clouds they saw. The clouds got mad and started to block off sunlight so the unicorns couldn’t shoot any more lasers. The unicorns were getting very sick, so they had to make a treaty with the clouds. The treaty made it so unicorns had the right to shoot a cloud in their kingdom, unless it was a patrol cloud with a patrol cloud uniform. Thus, clouds would stay off of unicorn territory.

So soon, the unicorns’ memories of clouds faded. They only considered the patrol clouds and not all the other clouds that were out of their territory. Gloomy soon realized they would not shoot at him because he was a gloom cloud. They would not recognise him and run away. That is the reason Gloomy went into the Kingdom of Unicorns.

One day, Gloomy was flying over the Kingdom of Unicorns. He knew he wasn’t allowed to do this, but it’s not like the scolding bothered him anymore. He saw beautiful trees and ponds dotted with colorful butterflies. The land was spotted with silver unicorns grazing in grassy fields. While he was looking down, he observed a scene he could relate to. There was a bright-pink unicorn that stood out like he did. The other pale-white unicorns were calling out names like “pinky” and “light bulb.”

“Hey, Pinky!” the unicorns would shout.

“Can you change to other colors?” they would laugh.

“We need a disco ball for the party tonight. We’re hiring! The job pays one dollar. About the amount you’re worth.”

“Stop it!” the bullied unicorn would shout, but it was to no avail. Gloomy knew this feeling, so he decided that if he couldn’t help himself, he would help this unicorn. He knew how he would do it right away. He did what he was told never to do. It was something he had worked every day to hide. He started raining on all the mean unicorns. He rained harder and harder. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning sprang from him and hit the ground, scaring all the unicorns into running away, even the pink one.

Gloomy followed this pink unicorn that had been bullied all the way to a pond. He was deep in the Kingdom of Unicorns now. He sank down until he was face-to-face with the unicorn, and he knew he was breaking the most important rule of clouds, but he spoke to it.

“Hello, there, what’s your name? I’m Gloomy,” he said carefully.

“Ah!” the pink unicorn cried. He calmed down after realizing this was the cloud that had scared away the bullies. “I’m Magenta. Thanks for helping me back there. Why did you do that? I thought it’s forbidden for gloom clouds to rain,” said Magenta.

“I’ve been in that situation before,” Gloomy said. “I know how that feels. It’s terrible.”

“Thanks for helping me. You’re very nice. I’m sorry you have to go through this too. Why are you bullied?” Magenta asked kindly.

“I’m a gloom cloud. They bully me for being dark and rainy. It’s kind of a similar situation to yours,” Gloomy replied. “By the way, I like your name. Magenta is my favorite color. Your coat is so pretty.”

“Thanks,” said Magenta, smiling a little. “No one’s ever said that before.”

Just then, a patrol cloud crossed the sky.

“Gotta go,” said Gloomy, and he started to fly away as fast as could.

“Bye!” shouted Magenta.

Gloomy raced as fast as he could away from the Kingdom of Unicorns. When he reached the border, he turned around quickly and flew at top speed toward Cloud Land. He smacked into the patrol cloud that had spotted him while at top speed. It stunned him, but the patrol was stunned too. So Gloomy used this to his advantage and made it to Cloud Land while the patrol cloud was still stunned. He hid behind a building, breathing heavily. The patrol was still stunned, but Gloomy knew he wouldn’t be for long. He needed to act fast.

Gloomy was about to make his way to his house and tell his parents he had been out playing with his friends. He quickly realized that would never work because the patrol would be at his doorstep within the next few minutes. Then, the best idea struck. Gloomy knew what he had to do. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him. So Gloomy decided to run away to the Kingdom of Unicorns.

Gloomy quickly went to his house and went inside. The patrol cloud was up now and had just started to make his way to Gloomy’s house. Gloomy was faster than the patrol, though. He snuck past his parents to the back door. He shut it, locked it behind him, and started to fly away just as he heard his parents walk to the door to answer the patrol’s knock.

When Gloomy reached the Kingdom of Unicorns, he snuck to the pond where he had last seen Magenta.

“Magenta?” he called out across the pond. He knew Magenta may have left, but it had only been thirty minutes since he had helped him.

“Magenta!” he called again. This time, the bright pink unicorn emerged from behind a large rock.

“Oh, hi, Gloomy. I thought you were one of those bullies again,” Magenta said, happy to see his new friend.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” said Gloomy.

“What’s up?” asked Magenta, ready to help his friend in any way possible.

“So, you know how clouds can’t come into the Kingdom of Unicorns, right?” asked Gloomy, afraid of how his friend would react.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well,” Gloomy said, fear in his voice. “I was caught when I came to help you. I could be punished really badly in Cloud Land for it, so…”

“So what?” Magenta urged him on.

“I’ve run away to the Kingdom of Unicorns, and I was thinking you might be able to help me get by.”

“Oh… I can, um… I can try,” Magenta said. He didn’t doubt his ability to keep Gloomy safe. Gloomy was his first and currently only friend, after all. He was scared of what would happen if he were to get caught. Both of them could be sent to prison for life, or even executed. Magenta didn’t want to put his friend’s life in danger, but he still wanted to please his only friend.

“Ok… I know a place where you can stay for tonight. I’ll come back to you first thing in the morning with breakfast, and you can drink from the pond,” Magenta said, devising a plan of what he could do to help Gloomy even as he spoke.

“That’s great,” Gloomy said, happy his friend could help him. “You can show me where I’ll be sleeping now. And I’m a little afraid of drinking from the pond. Isn’t the water too dirty?”

“You’re sleeping in the cave I was just in. It’s very well hidden. I’m the only one who knows of it,” Magenta replied. “And the water has been purified by unicorns. Our healing power can turn saltwater to freshwater and purify dirty water so you can drink it.”

Magenta led Gloomy to the cave and showed him inside. It was a large cavern, and Magenta had put down a pile of hay for a bed. Then, he left Gloomy there by himself.

Gloomy looked around the cave. It was cool inside. Water dripped from stalactites. He glanced over at the bed, worried that it would be hard to sleep on. He had slept on his cloud bed his entire life. He lied down on it and quickly realized that this hay was almost as soft as a cloud! He knew he would be very comfortable here, laying on his bed, listening to the drops of water echoing off the walls. Gloomy quickly fell asleep, exhausted.

That night, Gloomy dreamed about his new friend. He was so happy that he met Magenta, and he was sure they would get along well. Gloomy thought it would be fun living as an outlaw in the Kingdom of Unicorns. Magenta would be his sidekick. Gloomy slept peacefully that night.

 

Treasure Map

Cow found a treasure map in the middle of the beach. He was on Waikiki Beach, and he saw something poking out of the ground. Cow went over to see what it was and, to his surprise, it was a treasure map. It had been weathered, and the crinkles made it hard to read.

Now, this treasure map was Captain Blackbeard’s treasure map. It went way back to the 1600’s, when the pirates ruled the oceans. Blackbeard had a little friend who was a leprechaun who granted wishes if you found him. The treasure map was hidden by Blackbeard on Waikiki Beach right where Cow was staying.

The map was very confusing and took a long time to decode, but Diamond Head was the spot where the treasure was. Diamond Head is an old volcano that had erupted. Cow was going there with his dad, mom, and older brother the next day for a hike, and he hoped to find the treasure there.

It was the next day, and they were getting ready for the day. Cow didn’t tell anyone about the map he had found because he wanted the treasure for himself. Cow arrived at the park and started the hike. The map said the treasure would be at the top.

Cow said to his family, “Meet you at the top!” so he could branch off from his family.

***

When Cow got to the top, he went to where the treasure was supposed to be. Cow found out that the map was for little kids, and it had no importance. Instead, it was something saying, “Congratulations, you have found me.” What a lame treasure map.

But Cow felt like there was more to that map, not just a lame kiddy thing. Cow hoped the treasure would be a skin cure because he was born with a special disease where his skin was black and white. That was how his parents named him. He wanted to find the treasure so he could cure his skin disease because kids mooed when they saw him.

So Cow searched around the top of the mountain and saw a little cave. Cow saw an outline of a figure who was kinda small, kinda chubby, sitting in the cave. Cow went over to ask him about the treasure.

Cow said, “You know anything about the treasure?”

The man said, “Yes,” with his low, quiet voice. Then, he said, “You want that treasure?”

Cow said, “Yes.”

Then, the man said, “All right. If you want to find the treasure, then you need to answer these riddles.”

Lucky for Cow, he was great at riddles, so he was prepared. The first riddle was: You throw away the outside, you eat the inside, and then throw away the inside. What am I?

Cow was like, “Easy peasey! Corn on the cob.”

Cow was correct, and the next two riddles were trickier. The next riddle was: What goes up and down, but doesn’t move? Cow had to think for a moment, but he got it correct. The answer was the road.

Cow had to get this last one right if he wanted to get the treasure. The last riddle was very confusing. It was: Three doctors said that Robert was their brother. But Robert said he had no brothers. Who is lying?

Cow was very confused, but Cow was a smart dude, and he knew he could figure it out.

He said, “There’s no way!” But then he figured it out. Neither was lying. The doctors were Robert’s sisters. Cow had gotten all the riddles correct, and the man gave Cow the treasure map. The treasure map said the treasure was located at the Sheraton on Waikiki Beach. But there were two more tasks Cow had to overcome to get the treasure.

***

The next task was sword fighting a dead pirate. The pirate was located underwater in a cave that Cow had to swim to. It was located right off the shore of the beach. When Cow’s family got back from Diamond Head, they went to the beach. Cow said he was going snorkeling, but he was actually going to fight this pirate. Now, Cow was very scared because he wasn’t that strong or good at sword fighting. The only experience he had was playing with plastic swords with his brother, but, besides that, he had no experience.

Cow saw the cave and swam to it. Inside the cave, it was very cold, and the water dropping from the ceiling was also very cold. Cow heard this dead voice speaking.

“Are you prepared?” it said, and then a dead skeleton pirate with ripped up clothes, glowing red eyes, and a shiny sword with a gold handle dropped from the ceiling.

A sword magically appeared in Cow’s hand, and the fight was on. Now, Cow wasn’t strong, but he did have brains to the advantage. He figured he couldn’t kill him with the sword because he was already dead, but he could make the stalactites fall on him. So Cow lured the pirate right where Cow wanted him, threw his sword at the stalactites, made them fall, and they smashed the pirate.  

Cow had completed this task. A magical piece of paper floated up from the skeleton’s body, telling Cow that the next task was located in room 654 in the Sheraton on Waikiki Beach.

Cow was super lucky because that’s where he was staying! He rushed to the 6th floor and sprinted to his room! He used his key and rushed into the room to find nothing. Then, he heard a low, quiet, Irish voice that kinda sounded like a leprechaun. He turned around and saw a small figure standing next to the coffee pot.

The leprechaun said, “If you want the treasure, then you need to beat me in a labyrinth race.”

Cow agreed to the challenge, and the room magically turned into a labyrinth. The labyrinth was filled with twists and turns and monsters around the corner. Cow was at a severe disadvantage because he didn’t know the race, but the leprechaun knew it inside and out. Cow sprinted around every corner, looking everywhere to try to find the exit. The leprechaun, on the other hand, was just mindlessly walking throughout the course confident that he was going to win.

Then, the leprechaun saw Cow sprint ahead of him, going toward the exit. The leprechaun was worried and thought he might lose. The leprechaun caught up, and he stopped right before the exit. The ground shook, and the piece of land rose up. The boss battle was on.

The land was a field filled with cows, and the boss was a giant, red-haired, shaggy, longhorned bull as mad as a hornet.

The first person to dodge the attacks and get the finish wins, Cow thought. I could use my skin to camouflage with the cows and then run to the exit. The leprechaun just tried to dodge the attacks, but that didn’t work out so well. Cow was so camouflaged that the bull didn’t know where he was, so then Cow ran to the exit and won the labyrinth. The room transformed back into a regular hotel room, and the leprechaun said that the treasure was three wishes.

The first wish was that Cow could turn his skin any color so he could always camouflage. Cow had decided that he didn’t want to be a normal boy after all. He wanted to be different. After all, being different is what helped Cow win these three wishes. The next wish was that Cow could transform into anything he wanted, like a plane or even a shark. The last wish was that Cow and his family could stay two more weeks at the Sheraton.

Cow had a great time in Hawaii and showed his parents his powers. His parents almost fainted and couldn’t believe their eyes. He loved taking his family on tours by turning into a helicopter. Cow would only use his powers for good, and his family lived happily ever after without anyone bullying him again.

 

Rouge

“Try the blue button. Maybe that opens up the entrance to the ship, Hoshiko,” Coco suggested.

“No, I don’t think so. This might have just been a waste of time. With luck, they may come and find us themselves,” I replied, sighing.

We’d been on the run for three days now, and our faces were undoubtedly plastered across the Collectors’ bulletins. If the Rouge didn’t come rescue us, the Collectors would find us before them, and we would be taken back and executed. Probably. Actually… I didn’t want to think about it right now. Right now, we just had to figure out how to crack the code and be done with this random machine we found. We thought it might open up a hatch or something to the Rouge ship, but we weren’t not sure.

“So… you know, I don’t really know much about you,” Coco said, tilting her head in earnest.

Her swishy, blond hair slipped off her shoulder and covered one of her green eyes.

“We should get to know each other.”

Coco and I had just met a couple months ago, so we were not exactly on close terms.

“Okay…” I said slowly. “What about your family?”

“Well… I’m an only child… My aunts, uncles, and grandparents all lived under our roof with my cousins and my parents, though, so it was still a pretty full house. One of my cousins is still at the facility, but she’s supposed to get out in a week or so.” Coco’s smile disappeared at the thought of her cousin.

“It’s okay, I know how it feels,” I told her. “My family essentially disowned me when the ordinance was passed. My twin brother and my dad wouldn’t talk to me, and my mom just avoided me for days.”

“Wow.”

We fell silent at this, thinking back to our families. Would they even miss us?

“So what about your favorite food, Hoshiko? I love milk chocolate and caramel covered googleberries,” Coco laughed.

She threw her milky, brown arms in the air and fell backwards.

“I love pasta. That’s the one thing I miss about the facility. The pasta there is to die for,” I replied, clutching my heart.

“What’s your favorite pasta sauce?” Coco asked, giggling.

“ALFREDO FOR LIFE, YO!” I cried out.

We rolled around on the ground, laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. And then we realized part of the reason they hurt so bad was because we hadn’t eaten in a day. Crud. I was about ready to eat my shaggy, ebony hair or even my bony arms.

“I guess, for now, we should just try to find some food, since we didn’t think to bring any with us.” Coco stood up with a groan. “Ow! I think I hurt my foot.”

I officially hated this forest. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. Hate hate hate hate hate. It was impossible to navigate, and now it did that to Coco.

“Well doesn’t that make things all the better,” I muttered.

Then I saw Coco’s face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Cue the uncomfortable and awkward silence.

“So uh, I’m going to go find something edible to eat. You can rest here, but make sure to watch over the machine. We can’t risk losing it, in case it leads us to the Rouge.”

“I get it, Hoshiko,” Coco said, annoyed. “See if there are any googleberries around here.” Her face brightened at the thought of googleberries.

Too bad there’s no chocolate around here, I thought.

“There won’t be. Googleberries are made in the labs, so there’s no way I’m going to find any here,” I called over my shoulder, already walking away.

I could hear Coco grumbling, and I felt the corners of my lips rise just a bit. Coco brought happiness to anyone, she just lit up the room like that. Or woods, as in our case.

I tore off a strip from my blouse to bundle any food I found. I found a small berry on the ground, but I doubt it was clean enough for anyone to eat. Plus, it had a brown spot on the side that looked suspiciously like feces.

Just keep walking, I reminded myself. I didn’t know if we’d make it long enough for the Collectors to forget about us, but I just didn’t have the heart to tell Coco. She’s so sweet and innocent. I wanted to get her out of that dump into a place where she couldn’t be spoiled. It’s hard not to though, especially when I might break down myself. It’s almost like… I don’t know, like I felt a responsibility in me to protect her. What was this feeling? It’s so sudden, so new!

Suddenly, I heard a voice. Not Coco’s, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t talking to myself right now.

“Ugh! The one thing I liked better about the facility is that it was actually clean,” a girl said haughtily.

The facility?! No way. Are these people… them? The Rouge?

“Ah shut up. That’s one thing, Amy. It’s not a big deal, so suck it up, buttercup,” another voice chuckled.

The voices faded away, and it was like that set me off. I instantly sprinted back to Coco.

“Coco! Coco! I heard them! The Rouge! They’re here!” I shouted, cackling gleefully.

No response. Perhaps Coco was sleeping. I ran towards the clearing where I left her, spinning joyfully.

But Coco wasn’t there. No! She can’t be gone! Then I noticed.

The machine was gone too.

***

Did Coco leave me? I thought… I thought we were friends. Why would she leave me? And the machine, why would she take it? What did I ever do to her? Was there something she was hiding from me? And I thought she hurt her foot. Wouldn’t she have made some noise? Did she lie to me?

I couldn’t bear the thought that Coco, the one person I thought needed to be protected by me, would betray me and leave me stranded here.

I sank to my knees in the grass and gave a cry of despair. All my life, I’d been abandoned by everyone I thought I could be close to. Before the girls were collected and brought to the central facility, I had a good life. My parents were respected engineers, and I was popular among my friends. I just had my twentieth birthday before the new governor passed an ordinance to collect the girls in the state under twenty-one. My twin brother celebrated with me, and we had the best time together; we went to the theater and watched his girlfriend perform in an original play. This happiness we shared? All of it gone after the ordinance.

My friends ditched me. The boys looked at me with scorn, and the older girls ignored me whenever I tried to talk to them. I had a week to say my goodbyes, but I didn’t have anyone anymore to say goodbye to. It was like the ordinance had cut me off from society.

And then my family. My mother was sympathetic, but she would never dare to cross my father or the state. She always stuck by my father’s side, even when he called the Collectors to come early so that I was not seen until I was perfect. It was like she knew what repercussions her show of empathy for me could hold. My father made sure I was hidden until I had to go to the facility and wouldn’t speak to me directly. Even my brother. Danny made it clear that even though I was six minutes older than him, that he held the higher authority. He said I didn’t mean anything to him, that I was just a body. I couldn’t believe him, that he would just ignore all the memories we shared for the last two decades.

For the first time in a long time, I felt so alone. Then I met Coco at the facility. She shared my values and wanted to get out of there too. I thought I was finally on my way back to social recovery. But now, I guess that dream was over. I guess I would always be alone.

I had to find Coco. If she abandoned me, I’ll knock some sense into her. If not, she could be in serious danger.

Something hit my arm. A sharp object. I turned my head slowly and saw a tranquilizer dart sticking out of my arm with a white puffball.

The Collectors.

And the sedative took over.

***

I groggily moved a hand to my arm, where the tranq dart hit me. There was a small bandage covering it, but it was still a bit sore.

A hand slapped my face.

“Wake up.”

“What…” I mumbled, slowly sitting up on the bed.

I pulled a bit of my hair from my mouth, knocking my slim body onto the hard frame of the limp bed. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. A pair of young men, in maybe their mid-twenties, stood in front of me, arms crossed. There was only one exit in the bland, small room, and there were no windows.

“Follow me,” a man said gruffly.

He had a sandy-blond buzz cut, and wore a snug, grey t-shirt that hugged his bulging muscles. His rough, calloused hands pulled me up and shoved me out the door. His partner didn’t exactly look like a soldier, as his arms were so much thinner than the first man.

“Wait… what are we doing?!” I cried.

“We’re preparing you for execution,” his partner said cheerfully.

“Shut up, Dillon,” the first person snapped.

They kept pushing me down the dark, smelly corridor.

“Ex- execution?” I whispered, my legs turning to jelly.

Dillon caught me as I stumbled, his short, tousled brown curls bouncing.

“Yup!” Dillon said. He turned to me and whispered, “Sorry, Travis is really grumpy.”

“Shut up!” he roared, slamming Dillon into a wall. “I am not grumpy, but I am your boss! So you’ll do as I say! Got it?!”

Dillon instantly quieted down.

“Yes sir,” he said meekly, shrinking down against the wall.

Travis continued walking, and Dillon quickly followed him. I started crying as they shoved me along. We entered a large room with electric rods poised towards a hard chair with metal restraints, which I assumed was the torture room. Travis pushed me into the chair and activated the restraints while Dillon got the control panel ready.

“NO! PLEASE!” I screamed, sobbing.

I tried to get out of the restraints, but they were too tight. I shrieked as Dillon started up the electricity.

“NO! PLEASE NO! MY FAMILY! COCO!” These words barely came out of my mouth through all the screaming and crying.

Travis adjusted the rods to point closer at me, and I kicked him in the crotch as I thrashed around. He punched my face and told Dillon, “Do it!”

Dillon pressed a button, and a pulse of electricity came running down the rods and shocked me. Screaming, I writhed in the chair.

“PLEASE! STOP!” I shrieked, letting out another bloodcurdling cry.

Travis shoved Dillon out of the way, who stumbled and fell to the ground. He then punched another button which increased the electric charge.

The electricity seared my skin and lit my insides up. It felt like my entire body was on fire, a burning and stinging pain. Sweat seeped down my arms and legs as I continued to scream and thrash, watching the electricity run all over my body. Travis cackled and stopped the electricity to say something.

“Where are the Rouge?” he screeched, staring at me with wild eyes.

“I don’t- I don’t know!” I cried. “I’m not one of them! I don’t know where they are!”

Dillon silently got up from the ground and punched Travis, knocking him out. He then turned the machine off completely and ran towards me. My sorry self was still jolting and sobbing as he undid the restraints and helped me off the chair.

I crumpled to the ground and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then the world turned black.

***

I had a nightmare, just the same scene playing over and over. Travis, knocking Dillon to the ground as electricity flashed before my eyes. I woke with a start, sweating all over and breathing heavily. Dillon came over and helped me get up.

“I got you back to the forest where we found you,” he said, without much emotion.

“Thank you,” I said shakily. “I- why did you do that? Help me, I mean?”

“Because Travis is an idiot, and he wasn’t supposed to increase it that much. It could’ve killed you, and I can’t just… I hate torture and death of any kind, but I’m forced to work there,” he sighed, handing me a piece of bread. “Sorry, that’s all I have.”

“No, it’s more than enough,” I responded, grateful for some food.

“You have to get going. If you stay here, they’ll find you again, and you’ll be shot on the spot. And I have to get back too,” he said, worry creasing his brow.

“But… what about Travis?” I asked.

“They think that you got out because he wasn’t watching you, and that you knocked him out. I erased the security footage, and the admin found out Travis was a little tipsy anyway. That way, his story will be seen as a delusion,” Dillon said, giving me a reassuring smile.

“Thanks again,” I said.

Was there something I could do for him? It wouldn’t be long until things added up for the other Collectors, and Dillon could be executed himself.

“Thank me by going now. Get as far away from here as possible,” he said, reading my mind.

I nodded.

“I will forever be in your debt, and don’t let Travis get you down.”

“I swear, I won’t ever let him again,” he responded, shaking my hand.

I waved as I limped out of the clearing. It was so hard to move now. Every breath took a huge amount of effort, and I could feel the electricity still in my body, stinging away. My throat was burning, hoarse from all the screaming. It was like the electricity fried my insides. I was not able to move now without a biting, searing pain shooting up and down my arms and legs, into my neck and my feet, and balling up in my stomach.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. That voice again.

“Come on, Del! We’re going to be late for supper,” a girl whined.

I think her name was Amy?

“Well, sorry that I’m not as tiny as you are! I can’t just bounce around in the woods, you know!” Del said good-naturedly, pushing Amy.

Amy skip-stumbled and landed a yard away from me. Her bright smile faded into a panicked face, and her wavy, silver hair fell in front of her face. She scrambled back on her chubby body, and said frightfully, “Um, Del? There’s someone here…”

“GET BACK, AMY! IS IT A COLLECTOR?!” Del hollered from behind a thicket of bushes.

“No, I’ve been looking for you guys. The Rouge, right?” I said.

Del joined Amy, and they exchanged a glance, but I couldn’t read their faces.

“Did you come from the facility?” Del asked, her brunette bob swinging as her large muscles flexed nervously, with one hand on her dagger.

I nodded. “I escaped with a blonde girl. Her name’s Coco?”

“Coco? She did say she was expecting someone,” Amy amended, looking to Del for an answer.

She stood up carefully, brushing off her hands, and then hid behind Del’s large body.

“We’ll see,” Del said apprehensively. “Come with us. Hoshiko, right? Coco told us a lot about you, but we need to corroborate your stories.”

“Then by all means, corroborate away,” I said, smiling.

***

“Hoshiko! HOSHIKO! Over here!” Coco cried.

I looked up and saw her leaning over the balcony on the ship. She quickly scampered down the stairs, and then barrelled into me with a bone-crushing hug. Despite her gymnast frame, she could still do a lot of damage with her hugs. Youch.

“Agh… ow, that hurts, Coco!” I groaned.

“Oh. Uh… nice to see you too?” Coco said, hesitating. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to get back to you after they got me here. They didn’t want me to, as a safety precaution, in case you were Collected or something. So yeah.”

“It’s okay, Coco. I get it now,” I responded, winking at her.

“Okay good. I was beginning to worry about you. They told me how you were tortured. Are you okay? Nothing broken? Oh, and the Rouge gave me a two-bunk room, in case you came. And since you did, you can have a bunk. Top or bottom?” she said quickly, wringing her hands.

“I’m fine, really, and I’ll take whichever one is empty,” I said, grabbing her hand and jogging up the stairs to our room.

***

Three years we’ve been here. More girls and women have escaped from the facility and came here to the Rouge ship, but no men have been spotted in any of these parts. It hurts a little to see that even my twin brother won’t see our side and join us. Coco and I created a school for the younger girls, where they can learn about our lifestyle and how to survive on their own. The Rouge is our family now, a family of strong escapees. All we need is us.

 

What You Don’t Know (Excerpt)

“Ouch!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she felt something cold and hard hit her directly on her ankle bone.

There was sand in between her toes and salty water up to her shins. She reached down to her ankle to try removing the irritating feeling something was causing. The water was cloudy, so she didn’t really know what she was looking for. She blindly found her way to a glass bottle with a shriveled cork screw top. There was a sad looking red bow around the bottle neck, and inside the bottle was a slightly crumpled small piece of paper. She quickly turned around and headed in the direction of the parking lot. She gathered her beach towel and bag and rushed to her car. Not knowing what was in the bottle made Elizabeth more curious, but at the same time, more cautious. She was nervous to find out what this eerie bottle was holding. She was all about the mystery. She loved watching Law and Order on TV, and her favorite childhood book was the Nancy Drew series. She loved trying to solve mysteries, and she liked the thrill and shock the mystery gave her.  

She situated herself in her car. She had the air conditioning on along with the radio blasting the newest pop culture music. She took out the bottle and slowly untied the bow. She struggled to take the corkscrew out of the bottle and ended up using her car keys to pry it out of the grip of the bottle. She reached into the bottle and brought out the tiny piece of paper. It was no bigger than the size of her palm. She had to unfold the paper about eight times for it to reveal its mystery. Elizabeth was shocked to see what was written on the paper.

She read to herself, “The five steps to answer all of your questions”.

Elizabeth did not understand what that meant. Especially since, besides that mystifying title, the page was blank. She flipped the page over, hoping there was more information. Though, there was nothing on the back except a poorly drawn smiley face. After examining the sheet of paper for five minutes, Elizabeth slipped it back into the bottle, stuck the bottle in her beach bag, and started to drive home. She made the music louder and rolled down the windows. She tried everything to forget about the bottle and move on with her day.

Two days passed since Elizabeth had found the bottle. She mostly forgot about it. Though, when she got back home from the beach on that brisk Friday evening, she found the bottle lying on her bed. It looked fresh and new. The bow no longer looked sad, and the corkscrew was not shriveled. The paper inside the bottle was folded with crisp creases. Elizabeth examined it in awe. She took the paper out of the bottle and unfolded it.

Again she read aloud, “The five steps to answer all of your questions.”

Except, this time, underneath the title, it was not blank. In small cursive print, there was the first step that said Step One: Get closer to the water. Elizabeth was confused at this step. She was already very close. She came to the beach every day. How much closer could she get? She looked at the print, and it somehow looked familiar. She was so puzzled about what the message meant, but she was more baffled about how it appeared on the paper. The last time she checked the paper in her car two days ago, there was no message. She flipped the paper over and saw how the poorly drawn smiley face was now colored. She was bewildered at this new paper. But it wasn’t a new paper. No one knew about the bottle, and it had stayed in her bedroom closet since Tuesday. She frantically stuffed the paper back into the bottle and threw the bottle onto a pile of clothes in her closet.

She sat on her bed, staring at her bedroom wall and trying to think about anything but the obscure bottle that laid in between her gym clothes and purple dress. She cringed and slowly arose from her bed. She walked over to her desk and turned on her sticker covered computer. From Avatar: The Last Airbender to Disney princesses, Elizabeth collected stickers with all of the characters. She showcased her favorite ones on the top of her computer. She brushed her fingers against the pop-up stickers, surrounding the glowing apple as she opened the laptop. When she brought up a new tab, she prepped her fingers to type something she knew was absolutely crazy. She typed into the Google search box, “bottle paper appearing messages”.

Elizabeth spent at least an hour trying to figure out what was going on with the eerie bottle she found in the ocean and decided to bring to her house. She was prepared to take notes on anything she would be able to find. She couldn’t think of anything else. She had literally asked all of her questions, and she couldn’t find any answers. There was nothing on the entire internet that was able to help her solve her problem.

She decided to take notes anyway. She reached into her desk drawer for a loose leaf paper. She found one crumpled up in the corner of the drawer. She flattened out the paper and picked up her new fountain pen that she was so fond of. She grasped the pen where the shiny golden pattern was as she touched the sharp tip to the paper. She titled the document, “Mystery Bottle”. She continued to write all of the information she had. She mentioned where she found the bottle, how she found the bottle, what she saw on the paper, and how the paper changed. Along with every event, she wrote an entry beside it, showing how she was feeling at the time of that event. She was determined to solve this incredible mystery. She was really enjoying feeling shocked and slightly scared when the new message appeared on the paper. Forgetting about this was not something Elizabeth planned to do.

She folded the paper and put it back in the corner of her desk drawer. She was satisfied with the effort she had put into the notesheet, but she couldn’t shake off the memory of the new bottle and changed piece of paper. By the time she finished doing the rest of her homework on her laptop, she decided to go eat dinner. Her parents had already started eating when she came downstairs. She glanced over her mother’s shoulder to see what they were eating. Chicken and rice with no seasonings and no spices. She crinkled her nose and walked away. She made herself a sandwich and had some yogurt for dessert. She then ran back to her room. She eventually dozed off, and she woke up to the sound of her fifth alarm indicating that she was running late for school. She rushed to get ready, and she finally reached her car after what seemed like five minutes of participating in an obstacle course. She finished her granola bar and then proceeded to drive to school.

Elizabeth was lonely at school, and she was lonely at home. Her only friend moved away from Florida last year, and Elizabeth had not been able to make any new friends since. At home, Elizabeth felt lonely without her sister, who was in college. She was so ready to finish high school and join her sister at the University of Florida. Elizabeth was a wonderful student, and she was able to receive good grades. Though, when she was told to work with other students, she struggled. She was very awkward and was not able to communicate her thoughts and ideas properly. During lunch, she did homework in her homeroom class. She was not a part of any after-school clubs, and she did not participate in class. After school, she would go home and eat a snack while finishing her homework. Her favorite place was the beach. It was one of the few places that allowed her to be at peace with herself. On the beach, she was able to collect her thoughts and relax. She tried to go to the beach everyday after school. She had become acquaintances with all of the people who worked around the beach. All of the lifeguards knew her, and people who worked at the food truck knew her, but they were polite, nothing more.

 

Here Together

The sky was downcast the day my mother left. She packed up her things and drove away, leaving Julian, Dad, and I alone together. The day was gloomy enough without the thought that I would probably never see her again. I tried to continue the weekend without breaking down and crying. I missed her so much. I could smell her perfume throughout the house, and the taste of her home cooked meals lingered in my mouth. Dad was in and out of the house, working and sulking. He would meet with his lawyer everyday to talk about the divorce and what they would say in the courtroom. Dad never talked about Mom or his lawyer. He just said that Mr. Taylor was a work friend. But Julian and I knew what was happening. Our parents were separating, and we knew there was hole in everyone’s heart the size of a Skittle. It was small but painful, and it was incredibly difficult to heal.

***

After brushing our teeth, Julian and I go to bed. He worries about Dad, but I assure him that everything would be okay. I position myself to look at my brother’s baby face before I fall asleep. As I close my eyes, I see a single, shiny teardrop slide down my twin brother’s pale face. He sniffles as I get up to give him a hug. I sit with him until he falls asleep.

When he does, I crawl back to my bed and curl up in a tight ball. I shut my eyes and try to fall asleep. All I can think about is the image of my mother’s angry face driving away from our home. I had seen her angry at my dad before, but nothing like this.  

I wake up to the smell of quesadillas and eggs cooking on a hot skillet. Though, it doesn’t smell like normal eggs and quesadillas. It smells like Mom’s grandmother’s secret recipe for huevos rancheros. I jump out of bed and peek my head outside the door. I inhale the beautiful aroma as my brother wakes up. He stretches his arms out in a circular motion.

We hear someone coming upstairs, and like a natural instinct, we rush to our beds and pretend to be asleep. Dad walks in and “wakes us up”. He pulls us downstairs for breakfast, which is cereal and bananas. I nudge Julian, who also expected huevos rancheros. We eat our breakfast in silence and pretend nothing is wrong.

Just as we are finishing the meal, there is a loud knock on the door, and we hear Mom’s voice.

 

Baseball Nights

We fly down the sidewalk, the wheels turning furiously on our scooters. The bags hanging from our handles swing as we turn sharp corners, coming close to knocking us down.

“First stop, Sweet Green!” I shout, the wind seemingly making the words trail out behind me.

We slow to a stop at M St., and I race to push the button that allows us to cross.

The droning voice starts,“Please wait. Please wait. Please wait…” Until finally, the voice turns surprised, like it never expected the light to change.

“Walk sign is on across M St., Walk sign is on across M St., Walk sign is — ”

We cross before the voice finishes its third repetition, hindered only by the weight of the bags. We pass Harris Teeter (a blur of red and green), an office (a smudge of boring, old grey), and slow to a stop as we pass Takorean (Sharp outline of dark grey with a splash of yellow.)

Parking our scooters at the line between Takorean and Sweetgreen, my mom opens the door. Already focused on the chalkboard menu, she asks me,“Same as usual?”

I nod and head over to the forks and napkins, placing two of each in the Nationals bag slung over my shoulder. My mom finishes quickly, and we hop back onto our scooters, turning right and heading down Tingey St. past Nando’s Peri Peri, pasers, the suit store, and Unleashed (streaks of brick, brick, brick, and brick). We soar past the trapeze school and up to the towering Nationals Stadium. The sounds of the vendors and fans wash over us.

Tickets, tickets for sale. Did you hear that Rendon got hurt again! Water! You excited for the game? I have already gone seven times. Five dollars in the Stadium only two here!  Caps, caps for sale! Scherzer pitching tonight. Think that he will be up to standard? Peanuts! Anyone want some peanuts?

The stadium is mostly made of concrete, with big Washington Nationals banners on all of the entrances. It takes up a whole city block and feels like two. The North side has silver baseballs hanging from the top that are as big as cars, giving a shine to the garages that make up half of that side. The south side has a stunning view of the Anacostia and Yards park. The people that are not big Nats fans can spend most of their time looking at the view and eating at all of the restaurants that Nats Park has to offer. The crowd is filled with all kinds of people, young and old. They are all talking loudly to each other, lighthearted with the prospect of a whole night dedicated to baseball.

We push through the swarm of people and make our way to the first base entrance. The crowd thins, and we lock our scooters past the crowd of people smoking.

“Race you to the top!” I say to my mom, turning the last ring on the lock.

We climb the steps two at a time, neither going as fast as we can, but caught up in the excitement of the crowd. We place our bags on the white fold-over tables and walk through the metal detectors, knowing that we have nothing in our pockets, yet being a little bit nervous anyway. Next, we get to the spidery ticket machines where you have to insert your ticket into the blue-green light that emanates from the top. A satisfying beep comes if your ticket is okay, along with a green light that instructs you to push your way through the spindly legs of the machine.

As soon as we get through the many layers of security, we enter the many layers of boisterous crowd. Navigating our way to the escalator, we push by the fans. Everyone is here. Lawyers, retirees, hipsters, little league boys, senators, representatives, families, doctors, tourists, children, teenagers, young adults, adults, women, men, impoverished, middle class, wealthy, one time fans, kind of fans, normal fans, avid fans. We all turn to one at the sound of “Let’s play ball!”

My mom and I bolt up the escalator and into our “nose bleed” seats right after “The Star Spangled Banner.” A long time ago, we had convinced ourselves that the 400s were the best seats in the stadium. Lots of reasons pushed us into those seats, partly because we come to so many of the games that we cannot afford any other ones, partly because we actually enjoy getting to see the whole field from such a high vantage point. My mom and I have sat in those seats for so long that we have gotten a little protective of them. Whenever we are with other baseball fans who are talking about how horrible those seats are, we jump right in with the 400s’ list of values.

The screen starts its whole spiel about the Nationals, and I pull out my giant scorebook. Each side is as big as a laptop, with a dashing black cover and red writing. I slowly write down the teams and the date, savoring all of the time that I have, then I start to scramble as the screen races through all of the lineup.

My grandpa and Mom taught me how to score. I remember sitting down with them when I was eight, them teaching me in their usual way. My mom looking up the most concise, but complicated way and making me struggle through it, my grandpa telling me exactly how he does it, and scribbling down the positions in his beautiful, yet messy handwriting. My mom then took me to a game. We watched, engrossed, as the players went through their complicated motions, writing down as best we could together.

We got on the Washington National’s Facebook page that day. Mother Teaching Daughter How To Score, the caption said underneath the picture of us, arms around each other, bent over our scorebooks. Sweet moment between Mother and Daughter. And it was. My grandpa took over from there until he was killed in a car accident when I was ten, after our second baseball scoring season together. He would take me to many games and talk to me about the people surrounding us, the players, what was happening, what he thought was going to happen, and what had happened before I was brought into the baseball world. After he died, my mom and I became eager baseball fans, going to ten, twenty, thirty games a year, and of course, scoring.

Like always, the minute we sit down, my mom pulls out her food and starts to eat. With her jumbo water bottle in one hand and her many different snacks in the other, she begins to watch the game.

“Let’s play ball!” says a little kid wearing a Harper shirt in front of a microphone, his voice enlarged and projected t

hrough the stadium, and the game begins.

First inning:

“Scherzer going to pitch a no-hitter?” I ask my mom.

“Maybe!” she answers, drawing out the “be.”

First pitch, strike. Scherzer struggles a little bit and lets two runs.

“Ugh. No perfect game, no-hitter, or shutout!” I complain.

Scherzer promptly turns it over to the offense who score three.

“Thank goodness!”

Second Inning: Scherzer comes back and… lets two runs.

“Scherzer! You can do better than that!” I whisper to myself like my grandpa always used to, and write down the score.

The Nats fans are on the edge of their seats, and I am furiously scribbling down the runs. The Nationals come back with nothing this time though, and the fans relax, expecting the second loss of the season.

Third Inning: Finally, no score for the Braves. The fans sigh and relax, this time happy, even though the Nationals are losing. However, Danny Espinosa hits a Sac. fly and Ryan Zimmerman runs home, tying the game.

The light is dimming, and the park turns the big overhead lights on. I snuggle closer to my mom and get a blanket from the bag.

Fourth Inning: Another scoreless inning for the Braves, and one for the Nationals too.

By now, my mom and I have eaten all of the food, and every blank space in my scorebook page is filled with doodling. It is completely dark. Now is the time that my Grandpa would stop watching the game for a second and look for nighthawks. Out of habit, I glance up at the sky too but only see the moths fluttering around the lights.

Fifth Inning: The Nationals pull ahead with help by Zimmerman and Murphy. Nothing else happens except for a single by Ramos that hits the second base ump. The ump jumped to the side to avoid the ball, but it hit him anyway, and he rolled to the ground.

Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth Inning: After a long break from stress for the Nationals fans, it starts up again. The Braves score two runs in a row and sighs rocket around, mixed with a few cheers. I settle back in my seat with a sigh.

“They are never going to be able to win now!” I mourn.

Ninth Inning: A zero score in the top of the ninth for the Braves. Nationals up. Score: Braves 7, Nationals 6. The Nats fans inch to the end of their seats. There still is a chance.

Zimmerman steps to the plate. He is 3 for 4 tonight. There still is a chance. There still is a chance. First pitch, strike. The fans inch one millimeter back. There is still a chance. Second pitch, strike. One more millimeter back. Then, bang! The ball goes rocketing to left field where it lands as Zimmerman rounds first base, coming to a rest at second base. There is a smatter of applause, and you can almost hear the squeaking as the fans resume their position at the tip of their seats.

There is still a chance. There is still a chance. There is still a chance. Werth steps up to the plate. The pitcher curls and unwinds, letting loose a shrieking fastball. Crack! The ball makes solid contact with the bat, and it flies through the air. There are gasps, and the crowd rises as one. The ball hangs in the air for a moment and drops… right into the home run seats. There is silence until Zimmerman rounds third, and then eruption. I clap until my hands are raw.

“Werth! Werth! Werth! Werth!” chants the crowd.

“N-A-T-S! Nats! Nats! Nats! Woo!” cries everyone, one for each of the runs.

The team comes running to home plate, ready with a bucket of Gatorade to dump on Jayson Werth, the hero of the night. Werth sprints the home stretch–90 feet from third base to home plate–his long hair flying out behind him. As he reaches his teammates, he leaps into the air and comes down in the middle of the throng. The bucket of gatorade comes down after him, and he parades around the field, his happy teammates trailing after him.

My mom and I turn to each other, and our hands collide in a high five. Everything is perfect. I am with my mom. The Nationals won. It has been a good night, but as we meet in the middle, the young girl sitting behind us bursts into tears. At first, I am confused. Why is she crying? Then I see her Braves shirt, her Braves bag, her Braves hat, her family all adorned with Braves merchandise.

Ohh no, I think, blushing. Did our high five and overwhelming excitement make her cry?

I pull my hand away and bend down to gather up all of our stuff.

Why do I even care this much about baseball? I look down at my Nationals shirt that my mom got me for my birthday, spotted with pen smudges and stains from all of the messy dinners we have eaten here. I look over at my mom, with her short, brown, curly hair, a matching nationals shirt to mine, the bags already on her shoulders. I think about my grandpa, who I loved spending time with, who loved spending time with me.

The crowd roars again in harmony, Werth’s pumped fist coming from the dugout. Another curtain call night.  

I love baseball because my grandpa did, and my mom does, and this stadium does. I love baseball because of all of the scruffy scorebooks, delicious dinners, and fun scooter rides. I love baseball because the crowd is one, cheering and clapping for the eighteen players on the field. I love baseball because it is a memory of my grandpa. I still run into people at the stadium who still think he is alive and just haven’t seen him recently. I love that in some people’s minds, he will live on forever, coming to baseball games, being with me, talking, laughing, living. I love baseball because it is a night alone with my mom, talking, laughing, living. We mimic what my grandpa had done before us, everything from his comments to the players, to nighthawks, to being together in this way. I hope these nights will never end.

The mom of the girl behind us exits the aisle.

“Don’t cry,” she says roughly. “I told you I was sorry I forgot to get you cotton candy.”

Thank goodness, I think. So she wasn’t crying about us.

A big weight is lifted off my shoulders, and I grab the final bag.

“You sure you don’t want me to carry more?” I ask my mom.

“Nope. I got it,” she answers.

I put my arm around her shoulder, and we walk out of the aisle together and down to the stairs. The noise of the crowd is all around us, but we are oblivious to it. In our minds, it is just each other, together.

 

The China Doll

For days, I hadn’t been receiving mail… But the flag was finally up! I got mail! I burst out of my front door and opened the mailbox. Inside was a small parcel and a letter attached to it. I opened the letter, anonymously sent…

Hello Charlotte!

Hasn’t it been a long time since we have talked? You should be about 20 years old already, right? Anyway, I got a new house full of these intricate little details that will allow you to find me. (I still remember the time when you told me how much you wanted to play an adventure game when I got a new house.) Remember, I am in the last room. By the way, there are a lot of rooms, and in every room, you will find clues that will help you move to another room. Please come visit me anytime today.

– Your Best Pal

I had a best pal. Her name was Lucy, but she moved to Australia five years ago. It was even more curious that the letter was sent by my “best pal” from the address of my school. Rumour has it that she had, in fact, come back to start a strange paranormal business really close to our old school. I knew there was something to do with making china dolls, but I couldn’t seem to remember it all. So I decided to set off at once, but before that, I needed to open the parcel. It was packed really tight, as if something would break.

I opened the parcel carefully and found a china doll inside that looked just like me. A little me? How scary is that? Beside it lay a small note: Bring me, it said. I was hesitant, but I did as I was told. I got into the car and looked back into the box and found that the doll was standing up. I never stood it up before.

As I neared my old school, I realised that there was a small hut at the back of the school. The doll was pointing at it. That had to be my “best pal’s” new house. Behind the looming, gothic tower of the school, the hut seemed eerie. I didn’t even want to get any closer than I was to this house. The tower was exactly how I left it when I graduated: the gargoyles still as magnificent, the stained glass windows still as shiny, the doors still as tall. But something in the air just made everything off. I never remembered the hut being there, but it seemed really old. Two eyes stared at me from beside the hut. What was it?

Anyhow, I made up my mind. I had to go in there to investigate. First, I had to check whether the small but quite handy, tactical knife my dad gave me was in my pocket. We never went anywhere without it, for we were looked upon as allies with the enemies in the civil war.

I opened the front door as slowly as possible, trying not to make a sound, but the door gave a chilling creak, and bats flew out into the warm summer air. As I stepped into the hut, I realised that it was very dusty but well furnished. I picked my way through what seemed like a never ending hallway, but there were no rooms on either side of the hall. Only pictures with ghastly creatures all staring down at their intruder, in this case, me, hanging everywhere and anywhere you could imagine. At last, the moment that I had been waiting for, a door appeared up front. When I reached out to turn the brass knob, I heard a deafening crash behind me.The main door was locked! Oh, why did I have to walk into this trap? How was I supposed to leave now?

A gust of cool wind blew past me, and the box I had brought with me opened slightly, just wide enough for me to take a glimpse at the doll trying to get out. On its back was a small note — never saw that before — it told me to let the doll lead the way. How is the doll supposed to lead the way? I thought. Just then, the doll jumped out of the box with a clank and pushed open the door to my first room. It was surprisingly big, only a bit smaller than a ballroom. On the far side of the wall, there was an engraved riddle and two doors. The riddle said, “In one room, there is a blazing, hot sun that will burn you to ashes; and in the other, there is a fearsome dragon that will eat you alive. Which door would you choose to open?” Both were very bad endings, but the sun always sets, so… I’d have to wait until sundown.

It was not a long wait, in fact it was only a few minutes before the room with the sun became dark. The sun was actually artificial, made by the brightest lights you could ever imagine. I eased open the door, avoiding the spot where the sun had just been. I darted to the door standing wide open on the opposite side of the place where I was just standing. Suddenly, a figure stepped out into view. It was a doll, a life-size china doll! I gasped. He wore an outfit for riding, his eyes gleamed.

“Come and choose your horse,” the doll taunted, “You will race with me. The person who arrives to the door first wins, and gets a pass to leave this room.” He smirked.

There were two horses, one with three legs, and one with a crooked neck. Their coats were rough, and their eyes were glazed over. How was I supposed to win?  I got my strategy ready and decided to use the horse with a crooked neck, since I only had to ambush the dolls horse by riding my horse a bit slower than his. Once the race started, I reflected a light from above against my knife to catch my horse’s attention. Then, I rode the horse a bit slower, and plunged my blade into the doll’s horse’s back legs. It slowed to a stop.

“You evil woman!” the doll screamed, “You outsmarted me! You will pay for this!” And with that, the door appeared in front of me, and I stepped into the next room.

I was in a library. There was a book sticking out of one of the shelves, and I took it down. I opened it, and it turned out to be a box full of letters. I found my name on all of them. They were the letters that I wrote to my friend while we were on vacation. I flipped to the last letter — It was addressed to me! I opened it up carefully, not wanting to make even one crease in the paper.

Dearest Charlotte,

We are sending this to inform you about something that you should have known about us. We are spies for our nation. Since the war has started, we want you to know that we will be on a mission for our country. Because your best friend’s (who I  think is called Lucy, correct me if I am wrong) parents are allies for the opposing country, we may have to kill them. I am sorry for having to do this, but Lucy’s parents wanted to keep the leader who persecuted people for no reason.

– Daddy and Mommy

Was that why my dearest friend had decided to stay and start this business? Was she really this mad to not even think of talking to me about this whole thing? Ah, now I remember the rest of the rumour: She was supposedly making dolls that would suck up all the strength and the soul of someone just for sacrificial purposes. Now that was not how I remembered her to be like. I moved to put the box back in its rightful place. As I pushed it into position, the whole shelf moved, opening the way into the next room.

It was a warm room, with a small brick fireplace, and new leather seatings. My doll plunked onto a nice cushioned seat, leaving me to sit on the hard wooden chair, but when I sat down, I fell through the chair. Was this a hallucination created to make me go crazy?

Then the doll spoke. “I see, you have found out the truth to this room, but no, you will not go crazy. You’ll only lose your strength to me!” How did the doll know what I was thinking about? “With every room that you escape from, you will lose a tiny bit of your strength that I will take in. That is why I am able to talk to you right now… By the way, to escape this room, you will have to find the key and gather all the strength you have to pick it up and leave the room. If you don’t use up all your strength, then you won’t be able to see your folks again… It’s your choice, use your strength and try to save both yourself and your folks; but if you stay in this room for too long, all three of you will die!”

With that, the doll picked itself up and disappeared into the fireplace. The fireplace! That had to be the door for me to escape from this room. Though if I were to exist for a second in this room, I might use all my strength. I had to find the key first. I scanned the room and found a small penny coloured thing glistening on one of the shelves. It was the key! I picked myself up and ran to the closet, using all my strength and focusing it on the key. It floated upwards. Now all I had to do was to guide the key to the lock and open the door. I slowly brought the key to the fireplace. Then I found the keyhole right on top of it and pushed it in. It turned automatically. All at once, a cold wind blew from behind me, sending me plummeting into a candle-lit room.

There were bodies lying everywhere in the room, from adults to teenagers, even babies! Dolls were sticking out of their mouths. Their eyes were rolled back, deep into their skulls, and they stank of rotting flesh. The dolls all stared at me with their glistening marble eyes, their mouths curled up to form evil smiles, triumph reflected in their well-polished pointed teeth. A shiver ran down my spine. I was confused, whoever did this to these young people must be a cold blooded person! A door banged open, and a bruised and cut couple were dragged out. Both had looks of anguish in their eyes. Their looks rang a bell in my mind. They were my parents.

A voice rang out of the darkness, “Finally, we meet again! Though this time, we meet not in a happy mood, but in a vengeful spirit. Your parents killed mine, leaving me with no food, no shelter, no nothing. So I had to rely on the souls of these people to survive. It was a hard life at first, but I grew used to it. Soon after I got settled in with these corpses, I realised that I will only have the strength to revive my parents when I find the family that took my childhood away from me.”

I screeched, “You’re going to kill my family? What did we do? I don’t think that my family would ever want to kill someone’s parents. They care for people rather than kill them!” I said urgently. “Please don’t do anything to them! Please!”

“Charlotte, patience,” she said tauntingly. “Going on. At such an early age, I had to find my way around, but I was soon able to get the help of my faithful servants. Listen Charlotte, it is I, Lucy, who seeks revenge upon you and your family.”

As she said that, she stepped confidently out of the shadows. Her long hair tumbled around her shoulders, and her black cloak swept the cold stone ground majestically. Her lustrous gleaming eyes shone with a hint of power over everyone. A knife glistened and glowed from underneath the cloak, her long fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, “Long time no see, Charlotte.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped forwards, advancing towards Lucy, my tactical knife held tight in my hands.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not so fast, Charlotte!” said Lucy, stopping me in my tracks. “There are consequences to this. You can try killing me, but if you don’t succeed, your doll will suck your soul out of your body. Remember, your strength is already running out! Also, the reason why I didn’t want to tell you the thing about my new business is because you would have most definitely disagreed on it. Adding on, it would allow you to know exactly how to avoid having your soul sucked out of your body.” She ruefully smiled at me and said, “There goes your parents!”

Then, unexpectedly, she pulled out a doll that looked exactly the same as my dad, but just as she was about to make the doll suck up my dad’s soul, I hurled myself against her, sending the doll flying through the air and crashing to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

“Don’t you dare do that!” I said.

A sleek, black cat leaped out of the shadows and stalked into the candle-lit room. The two eyes looking at me from beside the hut must have been this cat.

“Cat! Get that wretched creature away from me!” Lucy said.

At last, I found Lucy’s weakness: cats. I picked the cat up gently and stroked it. Protect me from her will you, I thought to the cat. If I didn’t see incorrectly, the cat winked at me.

Interrupting my thoughts, Lucy said calmly, “Daydreaming again, aren’t you, Charlotte dear?”

“Don’t call me that!” I shouted angrily. “You have no right to call me that, Lucy!”

“Oh, really?” and with that, she pulled out another doll.

Every detail on it was matched to what my mom looked like. Just then, the cat tensed and leaped in a perfect arc into the doll, wrenching it from Lucy’s grasp, and flinging it into the air. The cat landed meekly and sat staring at Lucy, while calmly licking her paws. Job done, the cat seemed to say. But Lucy still had the power to kill me! I realised that with every blow that Lucy received, the more cracks appeared on the dolls lined up behind her. I had to destroy all the dolls. Punching each of the dolls, I noticed that Lucy was staring helplessly at me, her arms hanging limp at her sides. I almost felt sorry for her. No! I had to be persistent.

As the last doll was destroyed, Lucy slowly disappeared, screaming, her hair tangled, her cloak stripped to pieces, and her eyes glazed over. I defeated her! I wanted to scream out loud, but I knew I had to keep quiet, because Lucy still had other dolls in the hut, and they were still alive, and they might want to avenge their master.

“Dad? Mom?” I whispered.

My dad grunted in answer, trying to pick himself up. Suddenly, a doll came running out with a knife and dug it deep into my dad’s stomach. Then it moved on to my mom.

“No! Don’t do it!” I screamed.

I lunged myself forward, but something grabbed me from behind. It was the little me!

“Let go of me! Let go of me!” I screamed, landing a blow on its head.

It shattered into a million shards. But I was too late to save my mom and dad. They were both dead, and the doll had left. I screamed, crumpling onto the floor, sobbing as the echos of laughter rang through the room. I found a small note clenched in my mom’s hand when I looked up.

Dear Charlotte,

I know that even if you see us today, we will not be able to be with you, as we have another mission to accomplish. What you see in front of you is the sheddings of our human bodies, but next time you see us, you will still recognise us. Just to remind you again, we did not die when we got stabbed.

Love,

Mom and Dad

There was still a ray of hope to see my parents! So I decided to keep myself healthy and safe until I saw them again. I darted to the nearest exit, picked up the expectant black cat, and pushed open the door. Nothing had changed. My car was still there, the sun still hung low in the sky, and the wind was still blowing. When I eased open the hut’s door once again, it was only a small shed full of gardening tools, and nothing else, not a single piece of evidence that Lucy’s hut once stood there.

***

Ten years later, the school was closed down. There was supposedly a haunting in the school. There would be a lady heard wailing in the shed. Archeologists dug deep down into the Earth and found that there were bodies of long lost relatives, and there were pieces of china pieces in their mouths and scattered on the floor. The walls were cracked, and there were candles everywhere, all burned out. Many people believed that this was a sacrificial chamber, but they did not know of any reasons why there would be china pieces in their mouths. Only I knew why. I am currently 31 years old, and have started a family, but I have not told a soul — except for you — about the incident in Lucy’s hut.

Charlotte,

Please go to the basement at 12:00 AM  sharp today. You will find out why.

Love,

Dad and Mom

 

To be continued

 

I see you lurking. Watch this.

     

“I see you lurking. Watch this.” – Trivius Caldwell

It was a lonely existence. One of many in a huge crowd. He wanted to believe he was special, but he had no proof. He had friends, but they were just convenient. Gossip travels quickly in a small building.

The two-hundred-year-old girl who still couldn’t leave the school also felt alone. She was not solid, and he could only see her outline, but she was there. Following him. The living souls warned him of a vengeful spirit, but she was his only friend. When his momentary companions walked away, both literally and emotionally, she was still lurking.

The gym was empty Thursday afternoon except for two. He saw her, sitting on the bleachers, with her sad smile. He wanted to cheer her up. He did a cartwheel for her, but he didn’t know why. Those who could do them said it was nothing; those who couldn’t said it was stupid. She clapped and a laughing breeze blew in from the window. He was a crazy person who talked to himself if he talked to her, but here, they were alone. He showed her his new comic, which the others had dismissed. It became their afternoon. He showed her more things over time. Trivial things that everyone could do. He showed her how he could juggle, with his phone and finally his diploma. She was always there, but she could never leave. As he drove away from the school on the last day, he saw her waving.

Ten years later, when Mr. Waters is frustrated — his students don’t care about math, his colleagues mock his lack of a wife — he recites equations to the empty school gym. He hears clapping and sees a familiar face sitting on the bleachers.

 

Purple

       

The color of kings

Lies in my roots

And flows through the minds

Of all men.

The warm, toxic comfort

That lies in a hue

Comforts me time and again.

The blood of royals

Is squeezed from fresh grapes

And they drink it

Along with their cheese

Its rich, heavy scent

Flows with the wind

And teases the gullible breeze.

It’s dark and infectious,

But beautifully so,

And possesses a sickening grace,

And it’s the color I picture

When I’ve come to my end

And the soil embraces my face.

 

Heard, Not Seen

   

Frustration embodied

By monsters that fly from lips

That have seen many years.

Or, sometimes fairies that don’t fly.

Like when a man chats up my father,

Yet when I speak, doesn’t say a word back.

Like when I’m told that I wouldn’t understand something.

I’ve gone through things far darker

Than piles of bills or a fender bender.

I’ve doubted my worth and swum through black oceans

But, yeah, I wouldn’t understand a conversation about politics.

I’m “too young” to know about that thing that happened.

Yes, my body has only been around in this form for twelve years.

But my mind has endured so much more than a 12-year-old should.

My mind is not a twelve-year-old.

People whose minds are twelve spend their days worrying

About makeup, social statuses, and baseball.

I worry about why I was put here on Earth

If I’m good enough or deserve to do things.

I ponder things the racist man at the dog park

Has never even known could be pondered.

And, yet, he thinks I’m not even worth speaking to.

Children are more than things who vomit and cry.

They have feelings, and they feel them much stronger than

Any adult.

And this world is teaching them that they aren’t even worth being spoken to.

I wonder, do all the adults complain so much

Because they’ve closed themselves off from the joy only a child can bring?

 

Cindy: A Cinderella Retelling

I was picking up all my papers off the school floor like I always did at 3 p.m. That was when my stepsisters would knock them out of my hands. It had kind of become a daily thing. I heard the bus leaving. WAIT! The bus?! Oh no! It came early today. Stepmother’s going to kill me. I must have had a very panicked look on my face because someone came over to me. A boy.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I just missed my bus… ”

I just expected him to shrug and walk away, but instead he said, “I’m driving home, wanna ride?”

“Okay… wait a second, I don’t recognize you. Do you even go to this school?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yes, of course- ” he replied, leaning out to grab my arm.

“Don’t touch me!” I yelled.

“Yes, today was my first day,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know! I would have shown you around.”

I was very embarrassed for accusing him of being a kidnapper.

“It’s okay. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to worry about little old me,” he said.

He was looking at his shoes. I was pretty sure he was blushing. I felt a blush coming to my cheeks too, and I turned away, smiling.

“I’m Kai.”

“I’m Cindy. Nice to meet you, Kai.”

Kai drove me home. As soon as I got home, you can bet my stepmother was upset.

“Cindy, where have you been? It’s 15 minutes after the bus arrived! I told you no after-school activities because you have to do the dishes straight away so the girls and I can have our afternoon tea!”

“I’m so sorry, Stepmother. I missed the bus and-”

“That is unacceptable! Your father spoiled you, and now he’s left me his mess to clean up!”

“Don’t talk about my father like that!” I yelled.

“Talking back, such a bad habit. I have my work cut out for me.”

She had her work cut out for her? Living with her was harder than all the chores I have to do everyday. After that, she yelled at me for a good five minutes more. I went to go do the dishes. Oh no, here come my stepsisters.

“So, missed the bus did you, Cindy?” Britney sneered.

“How’d you get home? Did you walk?” Whitney laughed.

Something about the sentence made me find my voice. “I met this guy named Kai. Today was his first day. He drove me home,” I answered.

Britney glared at me while Whitney gasped. “Kai?! That’s my new boyfriend! Stay away from Kai!” Whitney yelled at me.

Ugh, she must have meet Kai during the school day today. I can’t believe I actually thought I had a chance with this guy. This is what they do with new people: take them right away. As if I didn’t feel bad enough, she grabbed one of my mother’s plates and smashed it on the floor. Then, they ran out. My mother’s china. How dare they! That’s all I have left of my parents. Tears started rolling down my cheeks; I couldn’t stop it. I took the broken china and ran up to the attic. The attic was where I slept. It was my bedroom. I put the china next to my bed.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered.

“Cindy? CINDY??” my stepmother called. “Where is our tea???”

“Coming, Stepmother!”

I ran down the stairs, back into the kitchen. The first thing I did was hide the rest of my mother’s china. One of the things I learned, through acting as my stepfamily’s maid, was how to get tea together quickly. Not but two minutes later, the tea was in the pot and the teacups were on the tray, along with the mini sandwiches. I brought it out to them.

“It’s about time.”

My stepmother rolled her eyes while Whitney glared at me, and Britney stuffed mini sandwiches in her mouth.

“Now, Cindy, go sweep the living room, mop the bedrooms, make sure you feed the cat and give him his bath, wash the windows, and do the laundry. When you’re done with that, I’ll give you the rest of your chores.”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

I was happy. So far, she had given me less chores than usual. But, she would give me more later, so maybe I was speaking to soon.

***

The Next Day

“CINDY! WHERE’S OUR BREAKFAST?”

“Coming right up, Stepmother!” I responded.

I brought out their breakfast.

“Cindy, pour me some tea, dear.”

“Of course, Stepmother.”

I started to pour her tea. The teacups were very beautiful. The design was blue and yellow; it folded out in patterns, creating an image on the cup.

“I can’t wait to see Kai at school today. I think he’s going to ask me to prom!” Whitney said, happily.

“What?”

In my shock, I spilled the tea all over my stepmother’s lap.

“Oh! Ow! Hot tea!”

She squealed in pain. Grabbing napkins and patting it, she scolded me. “Silly child, look what you’ve done!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean-” I tried to explain, but she cut me off.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth! Go! Grab your things, and walk to the bus stop early! Before you ruin anything else!”

With that, I grabbed my things and ran out the door. Once I made it to the bus stop, I sat down and started crying.

“Ugh! Why am I so stupid?!” I screamed into the air.

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” a voice said behind me.

I turned around to see Kai’s smiling face.

“You don’t know me,” I said, turning away.

Kai’s smile turned to a frown.

“What’s wrong? I thought we were friends?” Kai said.

He sounded pained, but I just ignored it.

“Are you dating Whitney Lockwood?” I asked.

Ugh, why did I say that?

“Um, yes. Why do you care?” he said.

I buried my face in my knees so he wouldn’t see the tears spilling from my eyes. I didn’t even know why I was crying. I really was stupid.

“Hey, don’t cry.”

Kai sat down next to me and pulled me close to his chest. I tried to stop crying, but I just started crying harder into his shoulder. I calmed down and sat up.

“I don’t care. I just heard a rumor,” I mumbled.

“Oh, okay,” Kai said.

He almost sounded disappointed?

“Hey, babe.”

Just then, Whitney and Britney came up to the bus stop. With them came a crowd of students. You could hear them whispering, Kai and Whitney are so cute! Look at little Cindy. She’s crying haha.  Kai stood up and hugged Whitney.

“Awwww,” everyone went.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, babe, we’re going to prom together, right?” Whitney asked.

“You two would be the cutest couple there,” Britney added.

“Um, I don’t know. What I mean is… prom is tomorrow. So, I mean, do we have to think about it now?”

Kai trembled. He was obviously terrified. Then Whitney gave him her puppy dog eyes.

“Come on, Whitney, don’t give me that face,” Kai plead.

Whitney started fake crying.

“Oh, don’t cry. Okay, okay, prom together.”

“Yay!” Whitney clapped her hands.

“Yay!” everyone cheered.

She linked her arm in his. Then the bus came, and I cried some more.

***

The Next Day

I ran down from the attic to the kitchen and started getting breakfast ready. Once the tea was ready, I put the teapot, along with its matching teacups, on the tray with mini muffins, of course. As soon as I set the tray down on the table, Stepmother told me to leave.

“What?” I said, confused. “Shouldn’t I pour your tea like every morning?”

“No. Not after yesterday. Go clean up the kitchen and then head down to the bus stop.”

“Yes, Stepmother.”

I went and grabbed myself a muffin and put the dishes in the sink. Then I headed over to the bus stop. I sat by myself until Kai came over a few minutes later. Why was he always early?

“Hey, Cindy, I need to tell you something-” But, he never finished that sentence because just then, Whitney and Britney came over (once again with a group of students).

“Hey, boo-boo-bear!” Whitney exclaimed.

Then, she saw that he was next to me once again.

“Kai, are you cheating on me?” Whitney said in a pained voice.

“Of course not!”

“Then, why are you always with her?” Whitney sneered.

“I-we’re just friends. Right, Cindy?” Kai asked me.

His eyes were pleading for help. I turned around, looking him straight in the face.

“Not even.”

Kai just stood there, looking at me with the most hurt look on his face. I turned away.

“Cindy, wait-” he pleaded.

But I just got up and walked into the bus.

***

After School

“Cindy, help me with my dress for prom,” Britney said.

Prom. I wished I could go. But, I guess it would just hurt to see Kai and Whitney dancing. I wish I could go to prom with Kai! How I wish!

“No! Help me with my hairstyle for Kai!” Whitney said.

“Help me!”

“No, me!”

Whitney and Britney started arguing about whose needs were more important.  

During that, I did Whitney’s hair. Next, I helped Britney with her dress.

“Done,” I said.

Whitney and Britney looked at me, confused.

“Go look in a mirror.”

Both went to look.

“Oh! My gown is gorgeous!” Britney exclaimed.

“My hair! Kai will flip for it!” Whitney gasped.

They did both look very pretty. Kai would think so too. Sigh. Britney and Whitney looked at me.

“What?” they asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just — wish — I wish I could go to prom,” I blurted out.

I shouldn’t have said anything. Whitney and Britney bursted out laughing.

“You at… prom?”

I hung my head down, embarrassed. They kept laughing. I walked out and ran up to the attic. I looked out the attic window as Whitney and Britney left for prom.

“Cindy!!!” my stepmother called. “I’m going out! I’ll be back around 12:30 am! Don’t forget to clean the cinders out of the fire! The girls will be back around 12:30 am, too ! The house better be spotless when I get back!”

With that, she left, the door slamming behind her. I ran downstairs, out to the garden in the backyard.

“I wish I could go to prom! I wish I wasn’t worthless!” I cried.

But, I am worthless, just a maid of a girl. Just a cinder girl.

“Are you alright, dearie? I heard crying.”

I looked up to see an elderly woman smiling at me.

“W-who are you?” I asked.

“I am your neighbor, dear. My name’s Faye Godmother, but my friends call me Fairie.”

“Oh, hi. I’m fine,” I said.

“Oh, but clearly you’re not. Tell me what’s wrong,” Faye said in a calm, soothing voice.

I took a deep breath.

“My stepsisters are at prom, and my stepmother said I can’t go, but she’s right. I don’t belong there. I don’t fit in.”

“Prom?! My dear, you must go. Prom is your night. No one else’s,” Faye said. “I’ll drive you there myself.”

I wiped the tears from my face.

“Thanks, but I can’t go looking like this,” I said.

Faye’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

“I just so happen to have a dress at my house. Would you like to borrow it?”

“Oh no, that’s your dress. I could never. Plus, I’m not allowed to go,” I said sadly.

“What time is your stepmother getting home?” she asked.

“12:30.”

“Then, just be back by midnight,” Faye said.

So, we went over to Faye’s house. I changed into the dress. It was the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen with white lace sleeves and lace trimmings. Then, a bright sky blue covered the rest of the gown. Oddly enough, it fit me perfectly.

“And these shoes,” Faye added.

She held out glass slippers.

“Are those made of glass?” I asked.

“Yup, but they’re quite comfortable.”

She held them out for me to try. I slipped them on. She was not wrong. They felt like slippers.

As if Faye could read my mind, she smiled at me and said, “A bit like slippers, aren’t they?”

I just nodded. Faye drove me to my prom.

“Thank you so much!” I thanked Faye.

“Just be home by midnight!” Faye reminded me.

“Wait, how will I get home?” I asked.

She smiled at me.

“You’ll get a ride with a special someone,” she answered.

“How do you know?” I asked, but she was already gone.

I took a deep breath. Then I walked into the room. The gym was decorated with banners and ribbons. People were dancing, and there was music. Then, suddenly, the music stopped, and everyone looked at me. I saw Kai and Whitney in the middle of the dance floor.

“Wow,” Kai said, looking right into my eyes, refusing to let me look away.

“Um, hi,” I said. “You all can keep dancing. I’m just gonna be here.”

The music started up again, and everyone started dancing again. Except Kai and Whitney.

“Come on, boo, let’s keep dancing,” Whitney said, grabbing Kai’s hand.

He pulled away, not even looking her in the eyes.

He said, “I’ll be right back.”

Then, he started walking over to me. The look on Whitney’s face was priceless as she let Britney lead her to the side of the room.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“You-you look really pretty tonight. But, I don’t mean just tonight. You always look pretty. I just mean that–” He rambled, but I cut him off.

“It’s okay. I get what you mean.”

We smiled at each other for a second, but then reality sets in.

“You’re here with Whitney. Shouldn’t you be dancing with her?” I asked.

“I-Cindy, you’re the one I like. It’s always been you. I don’t like Whitney, not one bit. I just felt so much pressure to fit in, and I’m so sorry. I was blind and stupid. Please forgive me,” he confessed.

He looked so serious. There were tears coming from his eyes, and he was holding my hand so tightly, like he was afraid to let go.

“I forgive you.” I gulped.

He was so close now. I could feel his warm breath.

“Thank you, thank you! Cindy, I promise I’ll never do anything this stupid again!”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I grinned.

Kai laughed.

“Speaking of promises, I better go tell Whitney she’ll have to find a new Prince Charming,” he joked and left.

Prince Charming, huh. This night had been pretty magical. Minutes later, he came back.

“How’d she take it?” I asked.

“Well, I think I took it harder than her. She slapped me,” he said, his hand on his cheek.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe this will make it feel better.”

Then, I kissed him on the cheek.

“Much better,” he said with the brightest smile. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure,” I said, shyly.

Kai led me out to the dance floor. We started dancing. Then, my shoe fell off. Out of nowhere, Whitney ran onto the dance floor and grabbed my shoe.

“I’ve got the shoe! I’ve got the shoe!!!” Whitney screamed.

“Give Cindy back her shoe!” Kai demanded.

“What? No, Kai, babe, you’re supposed to love me now. These shoes… they put you under a spell,” Whitney yelled.

She sounded crazy. Clearly, Kai thought so.

“I love Cindy for her, not her shoes. Now, give it back!”

Kai grabbed the shoe out of Whitney’s hand.

“May I?” Kai asked.

I put my foot out. He slid the shoe on, looked up at me, and smiled. Whitney’s jaw dropped.

Finally, she said, “It must be the dress!”

She reached out, trying to grab my dress. I stepped back. Kai got in front of me, trying to stop Whitney. Then, Britney ran onto the dance floor.

“Whit, you’re acting a little bit crazy. Let’s go.”

“No! Not with my boo-boo-bear!!” Whitney screamed.

Finally, Britney dragged her off the dance floor. I looked at Kai and bursted out laughing. He looked confused.

“What’s so funny about Whitney trying to take your shoes and dress because she thought that they would magically make me love her…” Then, Kai bursted out laughing, too. “She’s crazy,” Kai added.

“Yup. My crazy step sisters,” I laughed.

“Those two wack-a-dos are your step sisters?” Kai asked. “I’m so sorry. They’re horrible to you at school, and you have to live with them?”

“And be their personal maid,” I added.

“That’s horrible,” Kai said.

I shrugged.

“It’s my life.”

“Not anymore. I will help you, I promise,” Kai vowed.

I smiled, then, looked out the window to see a car driving away. I couldn’t tell who it was, but the license plate said ‘Bibbity Bopity Boo.’

 

THE END

 

The Stag

Prologue

The cave was filled with the smoke of a thousand herbs smelling sweet, smoky and savory. Pools of water bubbled on the ground, releasing gouts of steam.  Somewhere, water dripped, making echoing, plinking sounds. Mara entered in her white robe, an acolyte of the Oracle. Her hair and face were covered by a light veil.

From the back of the cave, a voice. High and serene, the voice intoned: “Come, my child, I have something to tell.”

Picking up the the hem of her robes, she hurried towards the back of the cave . She pushed through a wall of steam and saw her, the oracle. She was a wizened old thing, ensconced in her brown robes, sitting on a chair carved into the rock of the cave. From her robes emerged a single gaunt hand with one thin finger beckoning Mara towards her. Mara stepped forward and waited.

The oracle began to shake, her bent frame convulsing. Her eyes rolled back, and a milky white was all that was visible in the sockets. Her head bent back and the oracle in an otherworldly voice declared:

“Though the land is broken,

The fields awash with blood,

One will come to rule them,

And unite them in the mud.

The child of the unmarried will do this,

Flying the blue flag,

But to bring peace to the nation,

They must slay the white stag.”

The shaking ceased, the hand went back into the brown robes, and the eyes rolled back and then closed. She muttered a prayer in the hope those eyes would open again. Mara ran back to the entrance of the cave. She had to spread the word.

She emerged from the cave and made her way down the rough track to the monastery, almost tripping on the rough red stone. She could see it now, smoke rising from the kitchens, the spire of the temple reaching up to the gods above. Abbess Eleanor, thought Mara, she would know what to do. She reached the bottom of the path and entered the wide courtyard of the monastery.

“Child, what did the oracle tell you?” said the Abbess, a stern-faced woman, a head taller than Mara with her hair and limbs hidden by voluminous blue robes. Mara repeated what she had heard.

“My, that is important,” said the Abbess. “Come with me.” The Abbess turned heel and Mara followed hastily.

They headed into the main building of the monastery itself. It was built from the same red stone as the mountain with floors worn smooth from centuries of feet walking across them. They turned left and then right and ascended a spiral staircase. Mara could tell they were going to the pigeon roost.

They came to the top of the stairs into a huge room filled with grey and brown pigeons warbling and cooing in little cages. Instead of an outside wall, there was just a giant window out of which the pigeons would fly when released. From out of a corner hustled a short, mousy woman in a brown robe, the pigeon keeper.

“Abbess, to what do we owe the pleasure?” she chirped.

“We have a message, a prophecy, from the oracle,” replied the abbess.

“Ah! Understood. I’ll get the pigeons ready!” she squeaked.

“Abbess,” began Mara softly, “what will happen?”

“Well, we will send a copy of the prophecy to every town and castle in the land.”

“But what if it causes chaos? What if there’s another war?”

“Mara, our responsibility, given to us by the gods, is to hear their will in the form of prophecy.  We do not interfere in worldly affairs.”            

“I suppose so…” Mara was troubled, but she forced herself to seem convinced.

The Abbess lifted Mara’s head to look her in the eyes. “I know it’s hard for one so young to understand, child, but in time you will come to.”  

 

Chapter One

Winter, the castle shivered in the last snow of the season. Out on the walls, a lone sentry walked, trudging through a foot of snow. Clinging to his spear, he shivered even through his layers of fur, leather, and mail surrounded by a wool cloak. On the tip of his spear flapped the flag bearing the white eagle on a blue field of the House of Maren. He looked out on the snowy field surrounding the castle where once there had been a road and fields of wheat, but now there was only a desolate whiteness.

Jack had lived here all his life, born of a miller’s daughter and a traveling bard in the nearby village. As soon as he was old enough to be considered a man, he was brought into the service of Lord Maren to fight at the Bloody Marsh. He shivered again, this time not from cold, and muttered a quick prayer. A man now of four and twenty, it still haunted him. At night, he still heard it. The braying of trumpets, the clash of steel, the thrum of arrows, a brother’s scream.

The winter had muted the once-lively castle. Where once training swords clashed and horses whinnied, now there was only the soft crunching of snow and the furtive whistling of wind. Through the walls of the great hall Jack could hear them, the people of the castle breaking their fast. The sound of their laughter would be his only companion until he was relieved.

Then he heard it. A clomping sound, like the one made by the destriers the knights rode into battle. It was coming from the forest, but Jack couldn’t see the source at first through the pines and the bare branches of the oaks. He strained his eyes and saw a flash of gold through the trees moving quickly toward the field in front of the castle. Then in a blast of snow it burst from the forest: The Stag.

As tall as two men, its fur was a ghostly white. Atop its head were two enormous golden antlers long as a man’s leg curved and twisted half a hundred times with points like daggers. The sun rippled off them like on a river in summer. And when it snorted, smoke puffed out of its nostrils. But what struck Jack was not the fur, not the antlers, but the eyes. They burned a scarlet red and seemed to flicker like a flame. The Stag reared up and let out a roaring bellow. It was like hundreds of warhorns blowing together in a blast that seemed to go on for a year.

The sound of it shook Jack like a thunderclap did a dog. He sprinted to the nearest tower, dropping his spear. As he ran up the spiral steps, he could see through the windows that the sound had roused some of the men from the great hall and a few were running to the walls. He reached the top of the tower and began to ring the great alarm bell, pulling the rope with both arms. The roar stopped and as Jack looked at the Stag, it looked back, peering into him. He felt its fiery eyes burning into him.

Then, with a push of its powerful legs, it was off again flying over the snow.

“By the gods, what madness is this? What’s going on beyond my walls?”

Clovis Maren, Lord of Rookfort and Stone Harbor, had climbed onto the walls. Closer to fifty than he was to forty, Lord Clovis was no longer the strong man he had been in his youth. He was red in the face and short of breath from walking the long stairs up to the wall. Behind him walked his second son and heir Peter, a young man of middling height and a thicket of curly brown hair.  Adjusting his blue velvet tunic, Clovis turned to Sir Wyatt Witspear, the master-at-arms.

“Sir Wyatt, what’s going on here?”  

“A stag, my lord, a white one with golden antlers just like in the prophecy,” replied Sir Wyatt. His gravelly voice and scarred face revealed him as one who had lived his life as a creature of the battlefield. A head taller than most men, he wore a tough leather jerkin and at his belt carried a mace, a short iron-headed lead-weighted club with sharp spikes.

“Well who first saw it?” asked Clovis loudly, so all could hear it.

Jack, now back on the wall, shouted back “I did, milord!”

“There’s three gold coins for you. The rest of you, go back to your posts. I have no need of a crown.”

Behind him, Peter raised an eyebrow and smirked.

***

The forest was eerily beautiful, he thought. The steps of the horses muffled by the snow, the soft clink of armor, a soft chuckle here and there; in the forest, it seemed that everything became quieter. Long, thin icicles dripped down from tree branches, and the green of pine and fir trees was the only break from the endless white and grey and blue of snow and stone and sky.  

Hunting was a thirsty business. Hunting for a stag, hunting for a crown…Sir Ryan of Velburg took a sip from his wineskin to keep away the cold. He put it back in the saddlebag of his palfrey. They’d been following the stag for nigh on three weeks now. It had not been a fruitful search. He and twelve of his best riders had been tracking it ever since it was spotted in the forest near Velburg and had been following its huge hoofprints ever since.

He supposed it was fitting that he would try to kill the animal that was his coat of arms. He wore a steel breastplate with a white stag emblazoned on the front. His helmet, slung on the back of his Squire Wat’s horse, had two golden antlers coming from the top. His sword hilt had a pommel with a white stag’s head with ruby eyes. He had been granted Velburg by the King for loyal service just before Bloody Marsh, and with it he took the symbol of the town for his coat-of-arms. He smiled a cold smile when he thought of what he’d done at the marsh.

“Lamb, where in the hell are we?” he shouted back to one of the riders.

“I think we’re in Clovis Maren’s land!” Lamb shouted back. Lambert Till fancied himself the intellectual of the group. He, too, was trained in arms, but he had a stack of books in his saddlebags.

“Maren! Is that fat oaf still the lord? I think he is!” he cackled. “Boys,” he turned his horse and faced his men, “I think we should pay the lovely Lord Clovis a visit!”

Spurring his horse, he gestured back at his men with a wave of the hand and they galloped on. Maren! Ryan remembered that charge, when his horsemen had broken Maren’s lines and won the battle for the king. The king for now… Paying the Lord a visit would be droll. Custom would demand he and his men be accepted into the castle and into the feast hall with open arms. He cackled again. Being a noble was fun.

 

McArthur

Character List:

McArthur Knighte: Successful student. Pretty athletic, has lots of friends.  

Johhny Walker: Pretty good student. Good friends with McArthur.

Andy Nakamura: Big geek. Loves to watch anime and play DigiHockey. Doesn’t care about school a whole lot.

Hank Marino: Also big geek. Loves playing MTG and DnD. Makes conspiracy theories about the government. Doesn’t care about school a whole lot.

Mr. Smith: The 7th and 8th grade Academic Dean.

Max Miller: Extremely focused student. Always tries really hard on school. Shy, isn’t really friends with anyone, but everyone is kind of fine with him.

Jane Johnson: McArthur’s other best friend. Very ambitious.

Thug one, two, and three: McArthur’s big friends.

Mrs. Walker: Degrassi High School principal. Johnny’s mother.

 

NARRATOR steps onto stage.

 

NARRATOR

This is a story of Degrassi High School in Greenville, South Carolina. It is a story of the student council and the class president position. It is the story of McArthur Knighte and his fall from a great student to being expelled. Here, McArthur is walking with his friend, Johnny, on the first day of 12th Grade.

 

NARRATOR walks off. School scene is set up.

MCARTHUR is walking with his best friend, JOHNNY.

 

MCARTHUR

Hey, Johnny, are you excited for school?

 

JOHNNY

It’s gonna be hard, but yeah. It’s a really important year: last year of high school. I feel a good vibe for this year.

 

ANDY NAKAMURA and HANK MARINO, two of the ‘geek’ kids at the school, walk

over.

 

ANDY

Hey, McArthur, did you know about student council elections?

HANK

We think you have a shot at president.

 

MCARTHUR

Uhh… why exactly are you telling me this?

 

ANDY
Johnny, you’re not going to win anything. But, as they say, power corrupts, so maybe it’s for the best.

 

MCARTHUR

Shut up! I don’t care about your stupid predictions! You do this every year.

 

JOHNNY

Maybe we should go to our lockers…

 

MCARTHUR

Okay.

 

MCARTHUR is walking to his locker when MR. SMITH walks over.

 

  1. SMITH

Hey, McArthur. I have some good news for you.

 

MCARTHUR

What is it, Mr. Smith?

 

  1. SMITH

You have been named the student council for this year. It is a very important leadership role, and we think you deserve it.

 

MCARTHUR realizes that one of the things ANDY and HANK had said was right.

 

MCARTHUR

And who was appointed class president?

 

  1. SMITH

The person appointed class president was Max Miller. He has worked so hard the last couple of years.

 

MCARTHUR

(deflated)

Oh. Okay.

 

MCARTHUR walks to his first class. Later that day, MCARTHUR talks with his other

best friend, JANE.

 

JANE

You got appointed to student council? Great! Who’s president? You, right?

 

MCARTHUR

Uh… no, it was Max Miller.

 

JANE

What?! You are so much of a better leader than he is! We need to do something about this!

 

MCARTHUR

Like, what?

 

JANE

(whispers)

Max never signs out of his computer after school. We can go onto his Gmail and send really bad emails to all of the teachers!

 

MCARTHUR

No! I could never do something like that!

 

JANE

You deserve class president more than him! How could someone that shy and quiet be a student leader? They need someone who is a natural leader, like you. Besides, do you know how important this position actually is? Besides just being important for this school, colleges like Yale and Harvard look at this when they award scholarships.

 

MCARTHUR

I have always wanted to get into an Ivy League college.

 

NARRATOR

After school on the first day, Max has left his computer in the computer rack but hasn’t signed out of it. McArthur and Jane are the only kids left at school.

 

MCARTHUR

I really feel bad about doing this.

 

JANE

Fine! Just let me do it.

 

JANE sends the emails on MAX’S account, and she and MCARTHUR go home.

The next day, everyone is at their lockers getting their stuff. MR. SMITH walks up to

MAX.

 

  1. SMITH

Max, what on earth were those emails about?

 

MAX

(nervously)

W-what emails?

 

  1. SMITH

The emails you sent last night to all of the teachers. They were full of threats to the teachers as well as just being outright disrespectful. The governing board of the school has decided that we cannot tolerate this behavior. We have decided to suspend you for a couple days to get your act together. Unfortunately, we also need to strip you of your title as class president.

 

MAX

B-but I didn’t-

 

  1. SMITH

No buts.

 

  1. SMITH walks over to MCARTHUR, who is at his locker.

 

  1. SMITH

McArthur, I have some news for you.

 

McArthur: What?

 

  1. SMITH

Due to unfortunate disciplinary issues, Max Miller will be suspended for a couple of days. Because we no longer think he is fit to be class president, you will be the new president.

 

MCARTHUR

O-okay. Thanks, Mr. Smith.

 

MCARTHUR goes to JANE, who is standing by her locker.

 

JANE

What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

 

MCARTHUR

(whispers)

Max got suspended, and Mr. Smith made me class president.

 

JANE

Awesome! Our plan worked!

 

MCARTHUR

(weakly)

Yeah. Great.

 

JOHNNY walks up to MCARTHUR and JANE.

 

JOHNNY

Did you guys hear the news about Max and the emails?

 

MCARTHUR

Y-yeah. It’s really too bad. Wait, how do you know about the emails?

 

JOHNNY
I overheard Mr. Smith talking to Max. How do you know?

 

MCARTHUR

(panics)

Uhh… Same reason. See you later!

 

JOHNNY

Uh, okay. See you later!

 

JOHNNY walks off and soliloquies.

 

JOHNNY

I still can’t get over what happened to Max. He would never do something like that, unless he got framed… but who would ever do that? No one has a grudge against Max, so the only reason someone would have done it would be if they wanted to become class president. But the person would have to be pretty confident that they could become president, and the only person I know who would think that would be… McArthur! It can’t be, but… the way he talked to me today was so weird. And, on top of it all, the geeks told him he would be class president! Jane’s always been ambitious. I bet she nudged him into this!  

 

JOHNNY walks to class. During lunch, MCARTHUR is eating alone when ANDY and

HANK walk over.

 

ANDY

So, McArthur, we told you you would become president.

MCARTHUR

Yeah, I guess you were right.

 

HANK

We’re always right!

 

MCARTHUR finishes lunch and walks to his next class while soliloquising.

 

MCARTHUR

What they said all came true… maybe I am the best for the job like Jane said. I deserve it. Everyone else thinks so. Luckily, we got away with framing Max, and no one heard us planning. Although… Wait! Johnny never takes anything for granted. He knew about the emails, too. He’ll probably suspect that something’s up. I have to tell Jane!

 

MCARTHUR goes to class. At the end of the day, MCARTHUR and JANE meet up.

 

MCARTHUR

We need to make sure Johnny doesn’t tell on us.

 

JANE

You’re right. How, though?

 

MCARTHUR

I’ll send some of my friends to go beat him up. They’ll tell him to stay quiet, or they’ll come back.

 

JANE

Are you sure? That sounds horrible. He’s your best friend.

 

MCARTHUR

You’re right… but, I just, we- we don’t have another choice. I hate what’s happened to us. To think that just a couple of days ago, Johnny and I were hanging out.

 

MCARTHUR walks over to some of his friends.

 

MCARTHUR

I need you guys to beat up Johnny after school. Tell him to keep his mouth shut about Max. Got it?

 

THUGS ONE, TWO, AND THREE

Got it!

 

The next day MCARTHUR meets up with his thugs.

 

MCARTHUR

How’d it go?

 

THUG THREE

We beat him up so bad. He has at least one broken bone. He’s not coming to school today.  

 

MCARTHUR

Did he see your faces?

 

THUG ONE

I-I’m not sure. He might have.

 

MCARTHUR

(under his breath)

Shoot.

 

MCARTHUR

(to the thugs)

Keep your mouths shut. I don’t want anyone hearing about this.

 

THUGS ONE, TWO, AND THREE

Yes, Sir.

 

MCARTHUR walks to JANE.

 

MCARTHUR

I can’t believe all the bad things we’ve done.

 

JANE

(starts crying)

I know. I feel so bad about doing this. I wish we would have never done it.

 

MCARTHUR

How did this all happen?

 

JANE

I don’t know.

 

JOHNNY is lying in bed at the hospital. His mom (who is the principal of Degrassi) is

standing next to him.

 

MRS. WALKER

Johnny, now that you’re feeling a little better, I need you to tell me who beat you up.

JOHNNY

It was… some random guys. I don’t know exactly who they were. But I know who sent them.

 

MRS. WALKER

Who?

 

JOHNNY

I-It was McArthur.

 

MRS. WALKER

What?! Isn’t he one of your best friends?

 

JOHNNY

Not anymore. There’s a lot I have to explain. You know how McArthur didn’t get class president? This kid, Max, did. So, I guess McArthur really wanted president. You know Emailgate with Max?

 

MRS. WALKER

Yes. I still can’t believe he would do something like that.

 

JOHNNY

Well, that’s because he didn’t. McArthur framed him. Then, since he suspected me of knowing what he was up to, he sent the bullies after me.

 

MRS. WALKER

We have to do something about this!

 

JOHNNY

I just can’t believe my best friend would do this to me.

 

Scene changes to the next morning at school. MRS. WALKER walks into her office, right

next to MR. SMITH’S. He is already there.

 

MRS. WALKER

Mr. Smith, I have something very important I need to inform you of.

 

  1. SMITH

What?

 

MRS. WALKER

We wrongly suspended a student.

 

  1. SMITH

You mean Max?

 

MRS. WALKER

Yes. He was framed.

 

  1. SMITH

By whom?

 

MRS. WALKER

McArthur Knighte.

 

  1. SMITH

That would explain a lot. How do you know?

 

MRS. WALKER

My son was beat up the other day by some thugs McArthur sent. He was beat up because he suspected McArthur.

 

  1. SMITH

Was McArthur working alone or in a team?

 

JANE walks in and starts crying.

 

JANE

(sobbing)

I did it! I did it! I framed Max! He didn’t really send the emails! I –

 

She faints.

 

MRS. WALKER

Well, I guess there’s one accomplice.

 

MCARTHUR is standing by his locker when MR. SMITH comes over. He doesn’t look

happy.

 

  1. SMITH

McArthur, Principal Walker has summoned you to her office.

 

MCARTHUR

(super nervous)

O-okay…

 

  1. SMITH

Immediately.

 

MCARTHUR goes to MRS. WALKER’S office.

 

MRS. WALKER

McArthur John Knighte, I accuse you of impersonating another student, conspiring to get them suspended, and sending your friends to assault another student. My son.

 

MCARTHUR

Uhhh… w-what about J-Jane?

 

MRS. WALKER

Ms. Johnson gave herself up earlier this morning, but she gave no mention of you. Now, were you working with anyone else?

 

MCARTHUR

(guiltily)

N-no. W-what will our punishment be?

 

MRS. WALKER

You will both be expelled.

 

MCARTHUR is in shock.

Scene clears.

 

NARRATOR

So, you have now heard the story of the fall of McArthur Knighte. In the aftermath of McArthur and Jane being expelled, Max’s suspension ended immediately, and he was restored as class president. Once Johnny healed, he replaced McArthur on the student council.

 

JOHNNY is in his hospital bed after learning that MCARTHUR and JANE were expelled.

 

JOHNNY

By the expulsion of my friends, something wicked this way ends.

 

Nameless

It was colder than usual. Nothing was right. The wind blew so hard, the candles on the table went out. The sound of leaves whisking around the house was unbearable.

The thump of high-heeled shoes walking across the wooden floor alarmed the girl.

“I shall not support this. She has to leave. If you keep her here, I won’t help you. Do it for her. The boy doesn’t stand a chance there. He is only eight. The reform is clear: nine and older. I am sorry,” said the lady that was fluffing up her curly, orange hair and pulling up her long, puffy, purple dress that seemed recently sown at the finest dressmaker in the village.

“NO… NO…  I… can’t. She is mine. I won’t let her go. Why would you… No… NEVER.”

The little girl heard the footsteps stomping towards her, and she ran to her bed while her mother opened the door.

“She is leaving now,” she said, calmly, and closed the door. That poor mom slipped sweat off her face. She took a deep breath and slammed the door behind the orange-haired lady. She knelt down and started crying as silent as she could. Time passed. Minutes… hours… days.

“God, Beth, I say we go for it,” said the drunk man, walking around, all dizzy, bumping into the table and wooden plates.

“Pete, you’re drunk again. How could you do that to her, me, and Benjamin.”

The mother looked into her husband’s eyes to see if there was a bit of humanity left in him.

“Who cares anymore? We need the money. Take it, or I will,” said Pete.

“She is our daughter. How could you say such a… what happened?”

The mother’s worried eyes looked down to Pete’s bloody arm.

“You owe debt,” she said calmly, as she walked towards a small stove and a wooden table they called kitchen. She picked up a glass bottle sitting on the table. She screamed and threw it at the door.

“Calm it, Beth. You know I did it to win us some money.”

Beth started laughing loudly. A bit too loudly.

“And yet you lost it all. And the worst part is you want to… give our child away to her… of all the people in the world.” Beth took a breath. “How about Benje?”

Pete looked down.

“I thought he could start work. Besides, it’s not like I want to give our daughter to a stranger. It’s your sister.”

Beth sat down on the only piece of furniture in that cottage.

“My sister wants to make our daughter a labor worker…” said Beth, like she was disappointed.

“But she will give her lessons to read, and a better home,” said Pete.

“So you forgot the part about you getting her salary till she is older. She is my daughter. I won’t let her leave my side… I can’t,” said a sobbing Beth.

“Good God, let her go… I will give you another one or something,” Pete said with humor.

All was silent for a while as far as Benjamin and his sister could tell. Their ears were close, trying to hear the result.

“They won’t give you up,” said Benjamin, trying to convince himself and her. The sounds started. They had lower pitches this time.

“She is only twelve, and he is only eight. We can’t separate them,” said Beth, trying to find a way out of her husband’s poor judgment.

“ Hm…” said Pete, “it’s not like they depend on each other.”

Beth took a deeper breath. “YES, THEY BLOODY DO!” she shouted.

What could she say? How could her husband be like this? She could not believe this. Anger took control. This was the 5th time this was happening. A drunken man with no clue of the important things in life other than money. Yet Beth knew deep down that without that money Pete lost, they were doomed. She did not care. She pushed Pete aside.

“Good night,” she said plainly and walked way.

She went to the bucket of water and splashed her face. Beth undressed from her daily clothes and plopped on her hay-like bed, crying.

Every second next to Pete was torture for Beth after that night.

“Wake up, kids. It’s harvest day.”

The family of four headed out with buckets and shovels and tools.

“Start there, boy, and you help your sister. Me and Mama will take the bottoms,” ordered Pete.

“Actually, you and Benjamin can take the sides, and we will take the bottom,” said Beth with a sly look to Pete.

The day was hotter than ever. The poor mother and little girl worked in their heavy dresses, which were now wet.

“How are you, my sweet?” said Beth with a fake smile, trying to make her daughter feel better. She nodded, as in a fake “Okay.”

“I am sorry for your father’s behavior. He was affected by alcohol, and we all learned how bad that is, sweetheart.”

Again she nodded, as in “Whatever.” Yes, she knew her mother would not let her go, but she knew at the end, they were broke. How could her mother fix that? Unless God sent magic seeds to make them have ten times the wheat they have now, nothing would work.  

“Work, boy. We don’t want you to fail at this easy job. You will be a working man soon,” said Pete, trying to cut as much wheat as possible.

“But Papa, I am only eight. My friends in the village say they go to school and all,” said Benjamin, trying to put some sense into his father. Pete lightly laughed. After a second, it became a shameful laugh.

“Yes, boy,” said Pete. “I understand you want that too, but we don’t live near the village, and we can’t send you to school.”

The rest of the day, the family tried to keep quiet, because they had nothing else to say.

The next evening was intense. The dinner was only bread and a few sprigs of parsley they had left. Beth thought Pete had decided to skip dinner, apparently. He was not even back from town, and Beth was worried.

“I love the food, Mama. It’s so good,” said Benjamin trying to keep a positive atmosphere. “How about you? Do you like it, sis?”

She nodded, but did not say a word, and continued eating. Beth turned and looked into her daughter’s bloodshot, red eyes. It was obvious she was not sleeping.

“Okay, it’s time for bed. Head along, children,” said Beth, nicely.

The children got up and went to their small room. Beth picked up their wooden plate, and she put it on the counter. She sat down on a chair, staring at their window, waiting. Hours passed, and Beth was about to give up and go to bed.

“I have made a breakthrough,” shouted Pete, crashing into the door. “Why don’t we invent something? A device that can make you sober in a second. How funny would that be?”

Beth stood up as fast as she could.

“Yes, and then men will want it, and we can make a fortune,” said Pete.

“Oh, Pete, I was worried sick. What is wrong with you? Go to bed. I don’t want to hear another word out of that wrecked mouth. Go now to bed, before I force you out of the house.”

Pete laughed. “No way. We have a giant workshop to build.”

Beth shook her head in disappointment. “No, we are not…you are not doing that. Go to bed before you wake the kids.”

Pete stood there lifeless for a second. “I don’t know really how you feel about them…”

Beth looked up and asked, “You mean our children?”

Pete nodded. “We either have to sell them or put them up for work.”

Beth stared with impatience. “You make absolutely no sense. Have you lost your heart?”

Pete continued on about how he had been able to find buyers for their children for slaves or labor work, and so on. He started from bad ideas to awful, but he could not stop. He did not care. Beth grew madder by the second.

“GET OUT NOW!”

Beth slammed the door on Pete and went to bed.

Deep thoughts went through that family’s heads that night. All of them.

BANG. A loud sound took over the field. Beth and the children ran outside to find the most horrifying scene. Beth looked with shock. The children looked stunned. Pete was lying between the wheat… dead, with a wheat cutter gone through him. The blood had splattered, and the wheat was no longer yellow, but deep red. Benjamin looked at his sister, who started to cry. Beth looked down at her traumatized children.

“Go inside, now.” The kids held each other’s hands and they ran inside.

“God, why, God,” Beth screamed and sobbed.

***

She woke up confused. She looked at her brother’s bed but he was not there. She got up and opened the door to her room and looked into their cottage. Nothing was there. More importantly, no one was there. She opened the cottage door to find two horses connected to small wooden carriages. Beth walked towards her. She smiled at her daughter and handed her a small bag. Beth took her hand and led her to one of the carriages. She kissed her on the cheek and helped her climb on top of it. She gave her a hug and left to the other carriage. Benjamin sat with a suitcase on a bale of strain wheat. Beth went towards him and gave him a kiss.

“Goodbye, my sweets,” she said out loud.

The two men on the horses said, “Giddy up,” and the horses started trotting on the road.

The kids looked back on to their mother’s crying face.

 

A Singing Sky

Inspired by Madeleine L’Engle

 

Charles Wallace was as surprised as anyone when a great, shining, white horse knocked at the door just as the evening bell rang to send the children to their beds. The headmaster stood up immediately, an all-too-familiar look of irritation on his face. Every child in the hall knew that the sign on the door proclaimed that all visitors were banned after six o’clock, and it was nearing eight. All the children were in the hall from dinner until 7:45, when they were sent to the dormitories, with fifteen minutes to be in bed.

“Smithson! See who’s at the door and why he cannot read the sign!” Mr. Stenten, the headmaster of St. Brendan’s School and Home for Orphaned Children, snapped at unfortunate Michael Smithson, who sat next to Charles on the long, wooden benches nearest the door.

“Yes, sir!” Smithson jumped up.

Everyone knew to obey Mr. Stenton. He ran to the door before standing on his tiptoes to look through the peephole. He walked back to his seat and said, his face very pale, “The visitor knocked because he couldn’t read, sir.”

“Why ever not, Smithson?”

“Because he is a horse, sir.”

“A horse, Smithson? A horse?”

“Yes, sir. A white horse, sir. With a horn.”

“A white horse with a horn? An antlered horse, Smithson?”

“No, sir. A horn, sir. A long, spiraling horn,” Smithson hesitated.

“Yes, Smithson?”

“A horn like a unicorn’s, sir. A huge, white horse with a unicorn horn. Which, I suppose, sir, makes him a unicorn.”

“A unicorn, Smithson? Are you a little girl? Ten-year-old boys, Smithson, have no business believing in foolish fairy tales. I will have to see you in my office, boy, at nine o’clock.”

“Yes, sir, but what about the u-horse, sir?” Michael stuttered.

Nothing good came of an invitation to the headmaster’s office.

“I believe, Smithson, that the horse is a figment of your imagination. I do not think there is any horse outside, antlered or not. Resume your seat, Smithson.”

Just as Michael returned to the bench, another knock — a louder knock — came at the door.

“Oh, very well then!”

Mr. Stenton strode to the door and threw it open. Gleaming on the front step, magnificent and frightening together, stood the great horse. But it was not possibly a horse. No horse’s flank could glow so perfectly. No hooves could stand so tall and deliberate. No mane and tail would swish like pure silver threads. And there was no way that such a horn could possibly grow, such a long, beautiful horn.

“Wha-?”

Mr. Stenton’s break from his usual apathetic state was interrupted as the unicorn (for surely there was no other creature it could be, fairy tale foolery aside) stepped across the threshold and toward Michael. As the unicorn made his way toward him, Michael squeaked and toppled over sideways, off the bench.

Never pausing, the unicorn continued, advanced past Michael, sparing him not a glance, and stood in front of Charles. Speechless with both awe and fear and a strange soaring sensation, Charles simply stared back into its eyes, which glimmered like black pearls set in the silvery fur. The unicorn lowered its sharp horn, and the hall let out a collective gasp. But the creature simply nudged Charles’s knee with its nose in a clear gesture.

“Get on.”

Obediently, automatically, Charles climbed up onto the unicorn’s back. The unicorn was galloping past Michael and the children, past Mr. Stenton and his look of outrage, before Charles had time to feel frightened or doubtful, or that maybe he had been a little hasty in his decision to flee the miserable, droning, raucous life at the orphanage. He had known that the unicorn, as soon as it stood in front of him, would take him away if he so chose. However, perhaps his life was not something to cast away so quickly. Even if he was trapped and unhappy, he was alive and some kind of safe. Even if he hated it, if he wished to escape, he had not fully thought through the decision to be free and independent.

But too late, for the unicorn had leapt through the still open door.

The great unicorn flung himself into the wind, and they were soaring among the stars, part of the dance, part of the harmony. As each flaming sun turned on its axis, a singing came from the friction in the way a finger moved around the rim of a crystal goblet will make singing, and the song varied in a pitch and tone from glass to glass.

But this song was exquisite, as no song from crystal or wood or brass could be. The blending of melody and harmony was so perfect that it almost made Charles Wallace relax his hold on the unicorn’s mane.

 

 

Rowdy

What haunts me most had absolutely no effect on anyone but me. It did not hurt anyone, or change anyone else’s life. But the scene still replays in my head, as though I tore out the heart of my best friend.

My dog, Rowdy, was almost fifteen years old. He had black and white fur, and was on the larger side. His dark eyes were a bit filmy with age, but they still glittered. He would eat absolutely anything, including paper towels. Once, he ate several pounds of dark, imported chocolate. We called the vet, who told us to make him sick to his stomach. Rowdy and his sister, Chessie, had a strange quirk where, if they ate anything frozen, be it ice cream or an ice cube, they would get sick. So we put out a bowl of vanilla ice cream, which Rowdy ate happily. And that did it. He was saved.

When he was angry at us for going out and leaving him alone, he would destroy something in the house, usually our mail. When we came home, he would get so excited and rush at the door. One of my first words was “Back!” spoken as soon as the front door opened.

He had been my only dog for quite some time, as Chessie had died, when I was three, from lymphoma, gained through our ignorance in letting her walk on pesticide-soaked grass. At that time, Rowdy’s eyes lost their sparkle. He moped around the house and ate only about half of his food. For him, that was akin to a hunger strike. We had to do something to shake him out of his grief and bewilderment.

But we never thought that a brief trip we took to Philadelphia would be what did it.

Rowdy had fallen asleep in the back of the car, like always. But just as we were driving into the city, he woke up and looked around. His head snapped from one window to another, his eyes widening. He gave a short bark. He was amazed. He regained the jaunt in his walk, and the gleam in his eye. Philadelphia saved him.

But five years later, I couldn’t.

Rowdy was past his best years. His kidney was failing, and it was time. I was eight years old and begged for more time, more nights when Rowdy would come into my room and lick my hand, more days where we would go on walks. I did not understand what home would be without a dog, and I didn’t want to understand.

But my parents were adults and less selfish. They explained that Rowdy would suffer if we let him continue on as he was, and the kindest thing for him would be to put him to sleep.

I remembered watching him get shots (benign ones), boosters, and vaccines at the vet before. The vet would put a dollop of spray cheese on a tongue depressor, and Rowdy would lick it up without the slightest idea that a needle was entering his flesh. I wondered if it would be the same way this time.

But I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be there. I had to go to theatre camp, though I had no thespian talents to speak of. Our play was almost ready for production, and I needed to be there for the dress rehearsal, though I would have gladly skipped the entire show.

The last morning, we had plans for me to stay at a neighbor’s while my parents went to the vet, and she would drive me to camp when it was time. I woke up, dressed, and felt the little time I had left pressing upon me like a vise, so that I couldn’t savor any of it.

The neighbor came over to get me. She, my parents, and I were standing in our front hall. Rowdy was sitting in the middle, looking curiously at us all.

Everybody was watching me, knowing this would be the last time Rowdy and I saw each other. It was our goodbye, our final moment. I knelt down, scratched his ears and his head for a few seconds, looked into his eyes, and went out the door.

That was it.

In the midst of my conglomeration of eight-year-old feelings, from awkwardness to sadness to stress to confusion, I did not say goodbye. I did not tell him he was a good boy one last time. I did not tell him I loved him.

Maybe I didn’t say anything more because of all the people watching me, and I felt embarrassed. Maybe it was because I had to go to camp, act in a play, and like a normal person in general, and I didn’t want to start crying. Maybe I just wanted to pretend none of this was happening. But whatever the reason, I did not tell my moribund dog that I loved him.

That did not matter at all. It had no effect. Rowdy didn’t understand, and my parents were probably so distracted by their own grief that they weren’t really listening. Rowdy understood a few words, of course, like “sit” and “treat,” but he had no idea of what I had said or not said to him his last day on Earth. I could have recited a poem in his honor, and he would not have felt any differently.

Yet, I regret my final meeting with him more than almost anything else.

At camp that day, the grade above mine did their dress rehearsal while we watched. I couldn’t believe it, but the star of their show was a kid — boy or girl, I’m not sure — dressed as a dog, which depressed and annoyed me at the same time. And there was a maudlin song in their play called “Memories” (not the one from Cats.) All the while, I was unsure whether or not Rowdy was still alive and wondered if I should somehow sense the moment he died.

My failure to make the most of my last moment with Rowdy is a strange thing to be so fixated on. It’s insignificant and compared to the other problems in the world, ridiculously minor. But thanks to me, something that should have happened didn’t.

Rowdy never knew that I hadn’t said goodbye that day, but maybe he somehow hears the goodbye that I carry within me every day since.

 

Breathe Again

Cecily hated the color yellow. Everyone knew that. Well, she hoped they knew, but she was always wrong about that. Sadly, the paint in her eyes that slowly started seeping into her mouth was yellow. As she wiped the paint from her eyes and spit out the rest from her mouth, she stared at the culprit who had dared to throw paint at her. As she looked through her paint-filled eyes, she knew this was going to be a very long day.

“Sorry,” said Martinho sarcastically.

Martinho hated her. He was constantly pulling pranks on her, causing her to always bring a change of clothes. The first time he pulled a prank on her, she had to endure the rest of the day with whipped cream in her hair, eggs on her butt, and tomatoes all over her body.

She knew he hated her, but she did not know why. She never said a word to him. She probably wouldn’t even know his name if it wasn’t for her friend, Varinia, who was crushing on him hard.

She gave him look that said, Why do you always do this to me?

He knew that look all too well. She gave him that look every time he pulled a prank on her. He started laughing at her and taking pictures of her. He always took pictures because he always had to have a souvenir. He ran into the cafeteria, grabbing The Richards, the most popular guys at school, to join him laughing at her.

When she saw them coming, she ran into the bathroom, hoping they didn’t see her. As she hid out in the bathroom, her friend, Luciana, ran in, wondering if she was okay. She wasn’t okay. Martinho was starting to get on her nerves.

Cecily asked Luciana to get her change of clothes from her locker, but before she could get them, someone pulled the fire alarm. Everyone grabbed their jackets and ran outside.  It was pouring outside, but she didn’t care. As Cecily stood outside in the rain, the paint started to wash off, and she realized that she couldn’t let this go on.

Behind Cecily, there was a crash! Bang! Zander jumped out from behind the dumpster. The teachers saw him and took him to the principal’s office. They assumed that he did it because he was always causing mischief around the school.   

“Well, that was unexpected,” Luciana said.

Cecily smirked and gave her a look that said, Really. “We both know he had it coming. Plus, we know who really pulled that fire alarm,” Cecily said, looking at Diamanda.

“Yeah, Diamanda. So, tell me, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“I’m going to do nothing. There’s no point,” she said, defeated.

What!” Luciana screamed, and everyone within a five mile radius turned to look at them. They didn’t care, but decided to talk a little softer. “What? This has been going on for half a year now. You need to tell somebody and stop going on, bringing different clothes.”

“Maybe you’re right. My parents are starting to wonder if I’m going to school to change my clothes and impress a guy, but I’m not. Now, my dad wont even let me keep my door locked unless I’m using the bathroom. Sometimes I’ll take a shower, and I’ll come out and find out my door is unlocked when I clearly locked my door,” Cecily said, crossing her arms.

Luciana started laughing her butt off.  She could never take Cecily seriously. She was the kindest person she had ever met. She would never hurt a soul. She would act all serious, but she always had kind eyes.

“Dang, girl,” she said, still giggling, “how do you live like that?”

Cecily whined, “Will you stop laughing at me? It’s not funny.”

“Fine, I’ll stop. But you’re gonna have to figure out what to do.”

“I don’t know what to do. It’s getting harder and harder, being someone’s puppet on a string.”

“Well, never forget that I’m always here for you, okay? Unless Elijah calls. Then, I’m going to be preoccupied.”

“Girl, you are never gonna be preoccupied because we both know that Elijah will be calling me up, not you.”

“In your dreams, chica.”

“You’re right. He is in my dreams.”

At that, they both started laughing. Elijah has never even spoken to them, let alone known who they are.

After the Fire Department declared it a false alarm, they went back inside. Once Cecily was inside, she quickly grabbed her change of clothes and went to the bathroom. When she opened the bag, she cursed like a madwoman. She accidently grabbed her younger sister’s clothes, which looked like booty shorts on her.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom, Martinho gathered up The Richards, Diamanda, and whole bunch of other people to see Cecily look like a wet dog. In the bathroom, Cecily realized she only had two options: put on her sister’s booty shorts, or keep on the wet sticky paint clothes. Cecily really only had one option, but she made two to make herself feel better.  As she put the clothes on, they became smaller and tighter around her waist. Her top turned into a crop top, showing way too much belly button for her liking.  As she looked at herself in the mirror, her knees started to tingle and became very wobbly.

“Dang, girl. You look hot,” Luciana said, staring at Cecily with amazement.

Stop!!! You’re not helping! You’re supposed to tell me that I don’t look good,” Cecily said desperately.

As her voice got higher, Luciana said, ”Now why would I do that? I would never lie to you.”

She looked away at that last comment. “Lies. If I had a nickel for every time you lied to me, I would be rich.”

“Now, that is a lie. Look at yourself. I bet you, the moment you walk out of that door, those guys will be following your every move.”

“The only way I’m going out there is if there is no one out there. Go check for me.”

While Luciana went to go check to make sure no one was there, Cecily tried to boost her confidence and self esteem.

Luciana came back with bad news. “Ummm… I uh… really think you should put on your gym clothes.”

“I’m not taking gym this year, so these clothes are my only option.”

“Well… you see… there’s this really big crowd outside, and they’re waiting for you to come out.”

No!! Why does he hate me so much? I’ve done nothing to him!” Cecily whined.

“I don’t know. If you say you’ve done nothing to him, then I believe you. But your best bet is to suck it up, pull it together, and go out there like you came to school in that outfit.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one wearing this skimpy outfit,” Cecily started to yell.

She tended to yell when things were getting out of hand, and she couldn’t do anything.

“Yeah, I’m not wearing the ‘skimpy’ clothing, but you are the sweetest, nicest person I know who wouldn’t dare get mad at someone, even when justified. You need to stop caring what everyone thinks about you, and only worry about what your friends think, because we’re the ones who are beside you through thick and thin, not them.”

“You know, you maybe a bookworm and a soccer fanatic, but sometimes, you give really good advice.”

“So, are ready to go out there?”

“Do you think we can wait a bit? I mean-”

“No. We can’t wait any longer. You need to face your fear. And buy me lunch, because lunch was shortened thanks to the fire alarm. So we need to hurry before they run out of fries.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As they walked to the door of the bathroom, Cecily could feel her stomach clenching with butterflies. She came to the door and paused. As she was about to bail, Luciana yanked the door open. Everyone couldn’t believe their eyes. The nerdy girl, who always wore oversized clothes, actually looked hot. Even Martinho was staring, which is a first for everyone. As she looked upon the crowd, she saw smiles and looks of encouragement. Well, except for Martinho and Diamanda. Martinho stood next to The Richards with his mouth opened wide, staring at her, while Diamanda looked like she was going to kill her.

Diamanda growled at her, ”What are you wearing?”

Cecily replied, “Clothes, like you.”

Everyone started laughing. Cecily didn’t know what was so funny, but Diamanda sure did. Apparently, the “joke” Cecily made was to say, “Well, I’m wearing skimpy clothes, just like you wear skimpy clothes all year long.”

“Was that supposed to be joke?” she asked angrily.

“What was supposed to be a joke? I just answered your question.”

Cecily may have been a nerd, but when it came to popular stuff and noticing when a guy likes her, she was clueless. Diamanda started walking in a circle around Cecily, making her feel very uncomfortable.

“So, you think that you can just go around skimpy clothing, and everyone will forget what a dork you are?”

“I’m not a dork.”

“Oh, really? What are you, then?”

“I’m a decent person, unlike you,” Cecily said with a bit confidence.

Now Diamanda was furious. She could not let Cecily get the better of her. Cecily also couldn’t believe what she was hearing and seeing. Diamanda had the nerve to question what she was wearing, when she practically wore this everyday. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say Diamanda was little jealous. But why? She felt herself getting angry about this whole situation.

Cecily walked straight up to Diamanda, got in her face, and said, “You know what, Diamanda? I don’t care what you think about me. I know that you pulled the fire alarm so I could be soaking wet. And the best of all, I know damn well that I look good in these clothes, way better than you ever will.”

At that note, Cecily strutted into the cafeteria, with Luciana on her heels, who was laughing uncontrollably.

“Damn girl, I didn’t think you had it in you. You were on fire. After you left, Diamanda looked like you just took whatever soul she had left and ripped it into a million pieces.”

“Thanks, Luciana. Now I feel bad. Should I go and apologize?”

“Are you crazy? You just stood up to her, and now you want to say sorry? You shouldn’t feel bad about something that was a long time coming.”

“Yeah, you’re right. She totally deserved it.”

Luciana and Cecily were at the cashier, having their daily talk with the lunch ladies. Meanwhile, nobody could believe what just happened. Nobody spoke to Diamanda like that, let alone leaving her speechless in the process.   

“Well, Cecily’s a little spitfire, isn’t she? I thought you guys said she was a shy one,” said someone in a black sweatshirt.

He was one of The Richards.

“She is. I don’t know what’s gotten in her,” said Martinho.

He sure did like the new Cecily, but he kept that thought to himself.  

“She is so dead. The next time I see her…”

“Diamanda, just leave her alone. It’s not cool what you’ve been doing to her,” said Black Sweatshirt. “You too, Martinho. Why do you guys always mess with her?”

“Why do you wanna know?” Martinho asked defensively. “I didn’t ask questions when you were messing with…”

‘That’s in the past, and it’s going to stay in the past,” said Black Sweatshirt defensively.

The boys were neck and neck right now. Diamanda was about to step in when Cecily and Luciana walked out of the cafeteria. When Diamanda caught wind of Cecily, she glared like no tomorrow. Cecily was about to act like a coward when she decided to glare back.

As Cecily and Luciana were walking to the counselor’s office, Black Sweatshirt ran up to them. His heart was guiding him, not his mind. Black Sweatshirt secretly has had a crush on Cecily since kindergarten. She left soon after that, but he never forgot what she looked like. Seeing her again going into high school was like walking in a dream for him. He never thought he would get the chance to her again.

“Hey, Cecily! Wait up,” said Black Sweatshirt as he ran to her.

“Uh… hi,” Cecily said nervously.

“You don’t remember me, do you? We went to kindergarten together,” Black Sweatshirt said, hoping she would remember something.

“Uh… sorry. I don’t remember you,” she said nervously.

Black Sweatshirt gave Luciana a look that said, “Can you give us minute?” and she slowly slipped away.

“Don’t worry about it, it was a long time ago anyway,” he said. “My names Elektrec, and I was wondering if you could help me with something,” he said nervously, hoping she wouldn’t say no.

“Uh… maybe. Will I get in trouble for it?”

“No, of course not. I would never do anything like that to you,” he said sweetly.

Cecily couldn’t believe her ears. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. When Elektrec realized what he said, he started to blush.

Diamanda, Martinho, and the rest of The Richards were watching this whole exchange. Diamanda couldn’t believe that the hottest guy in school (and her long time crush since 5th grade) would ever like someone like Cecily.

Martinho was suddenly very jealous. He liked the new Cecily. Before, she was a nobody, a nerd. Now that she was finally something, he wanted her. He was the reason that she was a somebody now anyway. He sprayed her with that yellow paint that made her change her clothes, and that probably gave her the boost to stand up to Diamanda. She owed him, and he knew exactly what he wanted from her. He gritted his teeth and began walking towards the two to interrupt whatever was going on between them.

“Hey guys. How’s it goin?” Martinho said mischievously.

“What do you want?” Cecily said, annoyed.

“Oh, I just wanted to come and talk to you for a second. In private,” Martinho smirked.

“Actually, I was talking to her first. I just need to ask her one question, so could you give us a minute?” Elektrec asked nicely.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna stay right here. So you ask her whatever you want. I’m not going anywhere,” Martinho said, crossing his arms.

Elektrec slowly breathed out, “Uh, okay. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me this weekend?”

“You… want to go on a date… with me?” Cecily asked, not believing a word that just came out his mouth.

“Yes. I really want to go on a date with you.”

“Is this a game? Are you just trying to play with me? Because that’s not cool and-”

Elektrec took a couple of step forwards and grabbed her arms. Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “I want to be with you, and only you. So what do you say we go out Saturday night? I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something comfortable and warm, because we’re going to be outside.”

Cecily was in awe. She couldn’t believe her ears. The only thing she could do was nod her head.  Elektrec gave her a swoon-worthy smile and, boy, did she swoon.

As he was leaving, he told Martinho, “You hurt her, and I hurt you. Got it?”

Martinho gulped and answered, “Yes, sir.” He turned to Cecily. “So, Uh-”

“No, just stop right there. I don’t care about what you have say. You don’t have the right to say anything to me after everything you have done to me,” Cecily said, getting angrier by the second.

On that note, she turned on the ball of her foot and went inside the counselor’s office. As soon as she got into the room, her friends started pestering her with questions about what happened. She told them about her date with Elektrec, and how she stood up to Martinho. She then realized that although today may have started out a terrible day, she stuck through it. Instead of today being the worst day of her life, it turned out to be the best day of her life, for new things began today. She might even wear her yellow scarf on the date.

 

The Darkest of Depths: A Novel Excerpt

Chapter Excerpt: Deja Vu

As they sat up, they became more aware of their surroundings. The stone bridge they were sitting on wasn’t stone at all. It was half rock, half molten magma. They had bubbles around them to protect them from the heat. The bubbles were in the shape of their outlines and seemed to move with them. Not only that, the walkway was floating in space. It was black, with stars everywhere, in every direction. The infinite expanse of space was so beautiful, it was hard to describe. They could see the Milky Way, and they could see Mercury, Venus, and Earth. And, of course, they could see the infinitely huge sun stretching out before them.

Sunspots seemed to stare at them like huge, beaded, black eyes. Arcs of gas leaped up and settled down again.The gas seemed to envelope them as if it were mist made of fire. They walked towards the sun slowly, surely, but in awe. As they approached the wall of fire that was the sun, the gas pulled back, revealing a tunnel made out of what seemed to be an arc of fire. They stepped into the tunnel, and the gas wall closed behind them like a door. They walked through the tunnel for what seemed like forever. Then, they approached this podlike thing that was a disk with a semi-circle of swirling ice on top, kind of like a Bosu ball.

“I think we’re supposed to jump on it,”  said Jack with anticipation.

They held hands and stepped in it. Power surged through them like nothing had ever done before. Arrows made of ice that appeared on the walkway pointed them down the tunnel, and they knew exactly what to do. They ran. Because of the energy, they ran at over 10 billion miles per hour, speeding along the tunnel so fast, they basically flew. Then, after a few minutes, an invisible force told them to slow down. They came to a halt at a gateway made of ice, broken in half down the middle. All that energy drained out of them, like water in a spilled cup.

They seemed to be standing in the ruins of a castle. There seemed to be an invisible bubble of force that made a sphere-shaped hole in the sun, and that hole is where the castle was. Shards of white stone were everywhere. However, the path to the main part of the castle was still intact, with little chunks floating around it. They walked slowly up the path to the front gates of the castle. An entire half of the castle had been blown apart, and bricks of solid ice as hard as stone littered the ice-white hallways inside. They came to a staircase. Liquid nitrogen was foaming and dripping from two bowls, one on each side of the door. They walked down the spiral staircase. Down, down, down. They went so deep into the castle that it became very cold, and they could feel ice-cold power trying to take over the heat that was the sun. They emerged in a room that was completely blown up. It was supposed to be a smooth field of ice, with walls surrounding it and a ceiling on top. Instead, the walls and the ceiling were completely blown apart, and where they were supposed to be had holes looking out at the sphere of gas that surrounded the castle. The only thing intact was the floor, but it was covered in rubble.

“Wait,” Ben said. “Look at that, in the center of the room!”

They gathered around a circle carved into the field with a mini circle at the center. Both of the circles’ outlines were glowing. Then, a line appeared, cutting both circles down the middle. The mini-circle split apart at the line, and out rose a ball of light, so filled with energy and heat that it blinded them for a second.

Then, light from the ball poured into Jack, turning his hair red, blazing with heat and fire. His pupils in his eyes had little fire balls, and his entire body seemed to emit smoke. Light from the ball then poured into Ben. His hair turned blue, and it coursed with electricity. The electricity ran down his entire body and into his hands, which sizzled with power. When the light finally poured into Daniel, his hair turned into the color of wheat, with strands of hair turning into leaves. Markings like vines engraved themselves into his arms, neck, and legs, and a wave of dim light burst from him, healing injuries, and making everyone feel wonderful. They all knew instantly what this was.

“The Eternal Flame,” said Jack with awe.

 

A Bridge of a Sun

When he was alone outside and had nothing to do, Charles often thought about the strange coincidence that revolved around his birthday. He was born at the same time as the opening of an obscure musical called “Chivalry.” He liked to acknowledge this, but he made sure the other boys didn’t see the unicorn poster he had in his desk. He didn’t want to be called “Uniboy” or something.

The unicorn nodded its head in agreement.

Wait. What?

Yes, there was a unicorn standing in front of him in all its unicorn-y glory. He whinnied (it looked like a “he”) and motioned for Charles to get on.

“No. I can’t,” said Charles. “You’re not real, so I can’t.”

The unicorn made the same motion.

“Fine,” sighed Charles, and swung himself onto the hallucination (it was not.) The unicorn seemed to smile, then looked surprised.

“What now?” said Charles.

Suddenly, the unicorn twitched intensely and whinnied as a pair of wings sprung from his back. The poor thing seemed to be having an identity crisis of some kind.

“Well. This will be fun,” said Charles. “Wanna fly or…?” he trailed off.

He felt at ease, strangely. The unicorn turned around and nodded.

That peace was not to last, for the unicorn, unaccustomed to his wings, accidentally flew at the sun. They almost were done for, when what appeared to be a bolt of lightning hit Charles’ new friend and mount. He whinnied, and they fell through some sort of shield. Charles was no longer flying on a unicorn. Instead, he was almost burned alive.

He couldn’t see a thing, then a wave of cold washed onto him. He sat up and stared into the face of a young man carrying a staff of some kind.

“You almost missed the shields completely,” the young man said.

“Okay…” said Charles.

“That’s why I had to do that,” said the stranger, and gestured with his staff.

In that direction, a voice said, “What a day… what a…”

Charles turned to look and saw another man, also young, in clothes and with hair the same color as the unicorn’s coat.

“Is that you?” said a shocked Charles.

“Yes, it is,” said the man with the unicorn hair. “It was fine and all, you know… I thought you would like me that way.”

“Enough with this!” snapped the wizard. He was looking at a screen-like device. “That cold spell I casted will end soon!”

“Teleportation?” said the former unicorn.

“They need him!” shrieked the wizard. “Go!”

And in a flash of light, they went. The wizard did not come, but the used-to-be-unicorn did.

“Um…” said Charles. “Where are we? Who are you?”

“I am merely a messenger who knows that you like unicorns. This is the center of a star, or the sun if you’d like.”

“Why are we here?”

“You are supposed to be here. We needed a human, so we made a way to choose one.”

“You mean…”

“Chivalry was a device to select you.”


“So was there, like, a prophecy or something?”

“No. Just, only a human can cross the Bridge and save us all.”

What?”

The “Bridge” turned out to be a bridge with a switch on the side farthest from Charles and his companion. This switch would shut off the power that was on the verge of destroying the sun, but why only a human could have the determination and drive to cross the bridge and hit the switch? No one knew. Charles was human, so he ran across the crumbling (this was scary) bridge, finally reached the switch. He turned around. His friend was on the other side.

“What are you waiting for?!” shouted the non-human.

“Was ‘Chivalry’ an actual musical or just a way to select a human?” asked Charles.

Why do you care?!” shrieked his friend.

“Well?” Charles asked.

“It was written with the intent of choosing a human, yes.”

“I loved that show…”

“SAVE THE WORLD! WE’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!”

Charles hit the switch. With no unicorn to carry him home (the wizard popped in and apologized), Charles had to be teleported magically. He said goodbye.

“See you?” said the former unicorn.

“Don’t know,” said Charles.

“Oh, yes… hello, my name is Aquila.”

“‘Bye, Aquila. I’m Charles, by the way.”

“Goodbye, Charles.”

And he was home.

 

Circle of Life

0 – 6 years

My name is Frank, and I was in the hospital because I had just been born. I have a lovely mom and dad, but the first face that I saw was some strange women. I stayed in there for one month because I was sick and had pipes sticking into me. My mom said that she had to wake up at 3 a.m. everyday to go to the hospital, and she wouldn’t know if I was alive or dead. She was very stressed, and my dad always skipped work. Luckily, my dad didn’t have so much work at this time.

When I got out, I saw something. I couldn’t really open my eyes because it was shiny and orange.

I heard my dad saying, “The sun is shining, and it’s very hot.”

I didn’t really understand what it was. I was little, but one thing that I knew I wanted was to be close to the sun. I wanted to touch it because I felt some strange connection to it. It’s like the sun was calling my name over and over.

I had to drink milk everyday. Really, I never liked it, but I used to hear my mom say that it would be dangerous if I stopped drinking milk at such a young age. I was turning one years old, and nothing had really changed, except I learned to say “Mom” and “Dad.” I was trying to learn my name.

I was two years old when I got my first toy. I really understood that it was a Ford Mustang and, from this day, I had one thing in mind. When I grew up, I want a real Ford Mustang.

I was three years old when I started saying some sentences like “Mom, I need to go to the bathroom,” or “Dad, I want a toy.” It was my first day of school, and I didn’t really remember if I liked it or not. I made one friend, and I always played outside. I was always so hyper. When it was time to sleep, I never wanted to sleep.

Every two days, we had the same thing to eat.

I remember when we went on a school trip to a zoo. In the middle of the tour, I suddenly felt something. I felt like something stung me on my hand, so I had to sit down. I missed the rest of the tour.

The past two years, I started speaking German and learning how to write and read. I was six, and I was doing a test so they could see if I was ready for first grade. I passed, and somehow I was the best. It felt good.

 

7 – 12 Years: Starting a New Life

I was seven years old when my first problem started. My mom told me that my friend moved away. I made the biggest mistake. I only made one friend. His name was Dan. We met on the bus. It was the first day, and we sat next to each other. We played Pikachu, and he was the first kid that came to my house. If I remember correctly, we always played with army figures.

After three years of school, a disaster happened. My mom fell sick, and it was not good. I was scared and didn’t know what to do. My mom couldn’t really walk, and if she did, her knee would start hurting, so she had to get thinner. When I did something wrong, she would lock me in a room. I always used to cry and would try to call my dad, but I didn’t blame her. I was her first kid, and she didn’t know how to handle it. But she was the best mom ever. Because of her, I would learn from her mistakes and do it correctly.

I was eleven years old when I was gonna fly to Germany for the first time. It felt so weird, and I was scared. But when we were in the air, it felt so good, and the view was so nice. I held my mom’s hand all the time. I could see she was still sick, but it wasn’t like when she had it first. The airplane had a TV in front of me, the seats were comfortable and cold, and the food wasn’t bad. On the airplane, I felt a stronger connection with the sun. There was a man waving at me, and I told my mom to look. She looked surprised and said that she didn’t see anything. I knew that she was hiding something when she had to go to the bathroom.

“Our son, Frank. The sun is starting to talk to him. What should I do?” said my mom to my dad.

“I don’t know.”

It was a big adventure. The first time I went hiking, I almost fell down because for a second, I didn’t think about the path and looked at an orange mushroom. While we were hiking, my mom had to take some breaks because of her knee. I was very proud of my mom that she did everything with me.

The next day, we went ziplining from tree to tree. We were about 25 meters high. When I was in the middle of the zipline, I wanted to brake, so I put my hand on the line. Then, my hand burned, and I realised that I wasn’t wearing my gloves. I was screaming and screaming, scared because my hand burned. Then, someone saw me and got help. My hands were black and bleeding, but not too bad. I was going to the medic when, on the way, the sun was shining. Somehow, my hand healed as if nothing happened.

At one point, I got lost and couldn’t find my mom. I was scared, but the sun gave me a path. How did I know that? Because it was dark when, suddenly, the sun made a path. If I told you how many times I was scared, it would be as big as the population of New York.

I was twelve years old when my mom was getting better, but not too much. I was now in seventh grade, and it was starting to get harder, but I was smart. I was trying to figure out what was happening to me.

 

20 Years Before Frank Was Born

“David, the son of the Sun god, I’m gonna send you to Earth. You can choose one woman to marry, because all the women on the sun disappeared. Your first son is gonna have the same powers as you do. And if you get the child, you have to bring him to me, your father.”

“Okay, but I’m not gonna risk that my son gets powers, or he’s gonna be in a lot of trouble.”

 

On Earth

“Hey. Before we get married,” said David to Lea, “You know that if we have a kid, he’s gonna have powers, and my father is gonna want him.”

“Yes. But you said that we are gonna try to keep him and not put him in trouble, right?”

“Yes.”

 

Back on the Sun

“Ah, my son. I knew that you would do something like that. Don’t forget I can see everything.”

 

25: The Moment

For the past thirteen years, I have been trying to figure out what was happening to me. A lot of times, I got hurt. When I went in the sun, I healed again. And every time I went to my parents, they always looked so scared when I told them about it.

When I finished college, I was gonna be an astronaut. I wanted to go to the sun because I felt that it wouldn’t harm me. When I told my parents about this, they said, “No.” They were panicking.

“It won’t,” said David, very quiet.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. What is going on with you guys?”

“It’s time that we tell him, David,” my mom said.


“Tell me what?!”

“Okay, Frank. I am not a normal human,” my dad said. “I am the son of the Sun god, and I made a promise that I will hand you over to my father when you were born. But I didn’t because he want’s you to fight the Elsaks with the powers that you have.”

“First of all, what the heck? Why didn’t you tell me before because that explains the healing. But how should I fight this Elsaks with only healing? And who are these Elsaks?”

“First, you can’t just heal. You can do other stuff, like shoot lasers from your eyes and fly.”

“What, I can fly? Wow.”

“Yes. And the Elsaks are aliens that attacked the sun a lot of times.”

Boom! There was a big bang. When we looked outside, it was the sun. A part of it broke.

“What is going on?” I said. “All of this is too much. I’m scared.”

“Go, Frank. Go and save your grandpa and the sun.”

“But how do I fly?”

“Just think about it.”

So I flew to the sun. It felt very good when I was near the sun. I just went in the castle, but I didn’t know how to land correctly so I made a hole in the roof of the castle and fell down. There, I saw an old man. I was not sure if it was my grandpa, but I saw a lot of weird looking creatures. One of them was longer, and I bet it was the queen. I focused the laser on her, but I couldn’t control it. I closed my eyes and opened them again, and all of the other creatures were gone except for the queen. Then, a guard came and took the queen. When they were outside, a huge ship came and, somehow, the queen was gone.

“Thank you, Frank,” said the old man.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know everything. I’m a god.”

“Holy, my grandpa is a god!”

“Now, you have two choices. You can stay here and get stronger, or go back home.”

“It would be very nice to be stronger, but I want to go back to my mom and dad.”

“Okay. I respect it.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry,” said David to Frank when he came back.

“It’s okay. But no more hiding stuff from me, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

 

So I’m now 65 years old. The past few years, I have been fighting crime and doing hero stuff. I really don’t want to marry someone because it would be dangerous to give someone else powers.

And here I am, writing the story of my life.

Bang! Another part of the sun fell.

Not again. Okay, I have to go and save the sun. By the way, my grandpa said that I won’t grow older than 70 years old.

“Come, Dad. Let’s save the sun!”

“I wish your mom could see us.”

 

Apocalypses, Real and Imagined

In 1977, Robert Black walked up a steep driveway and into his one-level house in rural Virginia, expecting to see his mother in the kitchen. Instead, he saw an overturned pair of electric beaters, still dripping with cake mix, sitting on the counter. He called for his mom and received no reply. Suddenly, he understood what had happened. His mother had been taken up to heaven, along with the other good Christians. He was left on Earth with the sinners. He was warned about this during weekly church sermons, and somehow, he had failed to understand. This was it. Here he was, stuck in this 70’s kitchen with its stucco ceiling, for the rest of eternity. Everything he was told about had come to pass.

***

In 2017, I found myself struggling to find a way to debate with two boys in my first period class one day. They had asked, rhetorically, why they couldn’t make jokes about black people if the comedian, Chris Rock, could and made money doing it. I was struggling to condense my thoughts on this matter, but when I caught up with one of the boys later, I found the words.

“Hey,” I said, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to joke around with an experience you haven’t lived.”

“Okay, I get you,” he replied, which surprised me.

Even if he remembered everything else I said as a bundle of shrill hysterics, he and I could agree on the idea that sometimes, you needed to stay in your lane when cracking jokes.

I attend school in Washington D.C. but live in northern Virginia, so my dad and I have the mutual enjoyment (and, sometimes, frustration) of daily car rides with each other during the week.

My dad, Robert, was born in the “sticks of Virginia” in 1969 to a family of fundamentalist baptists. In other words, until he was sixteen, he believed the world might end at any instant, and he was not allowed to listen to rock n’ roll or read comic books. Aside from this, he also grew up a young Republican, for whom gay marriage would have been out of the question, and gender roles were as tight as his laces. In his last years of senior high and first years of college, his horizons expanded through his professors as he drifted away from his small town’s attitude. He met my mom, switched Christian denominations, registered as a Democrat, and had three children, me being the oldest. He now works in Washington D.C. with a progressive Christian social justice organization that collaborates with churches like his old one to solve social problems he only really understood halfway through his life.

Forty years ago, my dad might have been joking with those guys in class. Because both Northern Virginia (where I live) and D.C. are generally politically progressive areas, I was surprised when I met some more conservative students in my classes and felt the need to talk to them. After all, I knew my friends had enough trouble avoiding archaic slurs in public school, so I thought I had a duty to confront people in my school who might have toxic views.  

More often than not, the car rides I share with my dad are filled with me expressing frustration about the teenagers I know are ignorant of how their actions or words affect others.

In the fall of this past year, I recall jumping into our silver Volvo, throwing my bags in the back seat, and catching my breath after running to the car.

“How was your day?” came my dad’s obligatory parental line.

I sighed deeply, wondering whether or not I should tell-all.

“We had student government speeches,” I replied. “I have never hated my classmates more.”

My dad raised an eyebrow.

“Bad Adam,” is all I needed to say.

Bad Adam was how my dad and I referred to a boy I was continually frustrated with. My rapport with Bad Adam probably began in my freshman year French class when he referred to feminists as whales. Bad Adam was extremely capitalist-minded and a diehard patriot, which I saw was clouding his ability to reason. Last year, Bad Adam ran for Student Government Representative.

“He gave a speech?” my dad asked.

“Oh my gosh,” I began. “His speech literally started off with, ‘We need to take back our grade!’ What does that mean? The whole thing was filled with rhetoric taken from a Trump rally. He yelled ‘Make our class great again!’ at the end, and all his friends applauded.”

The intensity of feeling made me sit forward and, at this point, my nose was practically touching the dashboard.

“So… he wasn’t taking the speech seriously?” my dad said.

“Definitely not. And I hate that all those guys cheered for him afterward. They don’t understand that I have friends in our grade whose families might be hurt by this administration. It was embarrassing. I looked at my shoes the whole time.”

“Those guys… I was probably exactly like them, my dad said after I finished my interpretation of the day’s events.

From where my dad started, he has done a full 180 in terms of his concept of himself in the universe. He is no longer striving for a grace he can achieve, a promise of salvation that is dangling above his head. He no longer sees everyone around him as a soul to be rescued, a possible convert. To this day, he’s seen his mother threaten strangers with hell: janitors at school events or men who worked on our neighbors’ houses. My dad’s done with that life. He also used to carry with him a glorified, incomplete version of America and its role in the world. Jesus and the United States were both divine forces that had, and could, save more unfortunate souls. My dad’s eyes have since opened to see painstaking flaws and cracks in his previously simple world.

I asked my dad when he started to wake up to another view of the world. He said it was his freshman year of college at a small school in Richmond, Virginia, when he was introduced to ways of seeing the world that were unlike anything he grew up with.

“Professors introduced me to the scientific method, which alternately challenged or destroyed my understanding of Adam and Eve as real people,” he said. “Same with Anthropology and Political Science professors, who shifted my understanding of American exceptionalism. Same with my Sociology professors, and my understanding of feminism was placed in a different light. Christianity was taken apart and placed in the context of other religions’ regional dominance. I was forced to choose between a life-giving truth that would allow me to truly breathe for the first time as an adult, and retaining my comforting, but rigorous, fundamentalist Christian worldview. On the one hand, you have comfort and lies. On the other hand, you have truth and freedom, but the destruction of all you’ve known. Which hand do you choose?”

Many of the peers, whose beliefs I confront (or just hear secondhand through my friends’ outraged texts or word of mouth) appear to have, as their basic values, some concepts that my dad once trusted in. I know many people I have interacted with, conservatives especially, shared the same beliefs as their parents and have been raised on certain teachings, rhetoric, or media. This was certainly my dad’s experience growing up. His parents imprinted on him their morally strict religious and social beliefs. Still, imagining my dad as a teenager, making enraging comments that deeply misunderstand feminism or American history, is somewhat hard to imagine. If my dad concocts a future spouse or significant other for one of us kids in a passing joke, he is careful to not assume anything about the gender of who we may love. He has a nuanced understanding of poverty, which is a requirement of his job. He even calls himself a feminist, a far cry from his original fear of the term as a “dirty word.”

Sometimes, I can’t help speaking up if I hear an intolerant joke or a questionable statistic. The reason I care about influencing my more closed-minded peers is because I’ve heard my dad talk about his metamorphosis.

I think listening to my dad is telling about his upbringing. The people he still knows through social media, who have never left his town and have retained their decades-old viewpoints, have given me a greater sense of empathy for my peers whom I disagree with. Oftentimes, they seem to feel almost under-attack by my fellow liberals who slap labels on them like “racist,” “sexist,” or “transphobic,” rather than taking the time to get to the bottom of a rude remark or provide evidence.

Being calm in the face of an inflammatory statement can be the greatest weapon against ignorance. As my dad did in the 1970’s and 80’s, my peers have reasons, however buried they may be, for saying what they say. I suspect that all it takes to make someone reconsider their viewpoint is a single example or distilled idea.

While it is discouraging to think about it, I know that not everyone who is young and closed-minded now will be different as an adult. Common knowledge says that of all people, teenagers should be open to new ideas. So, if a person doesn’t become more accepting throughout their time in high school, will they ever change? I have had to acknowledge that people my age might be scared by the concept that their remarks hurt people, and will just react to some confrontations by being defensive and standing their ground. All I can do sometimes is make sense of why certain words are harmful, and provide some common sense in the middle of emotional arguments between my friends and the more right-leaning students in our school. The adult world itself, with real consequences for the intolerant, will shape many of my peers like it shaped my dad. And now, of course, my dad helps people to become more tolerant within their religious frames and language. There is a cyclical element to equality and love. Accepting people influence their peers who, in turn, become more accepting and have loving children and friends, who teach tolerance to their peers, and the cycle continues.

Believing in the equality of every person and giving humanity some compassion, understanding, and sensitivity has made my dad a happier and more pleasant person. As he describes it, it allowed him to “breathe.” Even if the reality of divorce or climate change makes the world more complicated and might taint a person’s faith in their religion or country, it also allows them space to see and empathize with others.
Concepts like agenderness and fat-positivity exist because the people behind them are trying to explain the complexities of their lives. While it might seem unnecessary and almost silly to my conservative peers now, my dad’s inclusivity, or his admirable understanding of our country’s failings, help us, his children, in unforeseen ways. After all, how we are raised determines a great deal of what we believe.

Every day, there is probably some degree of teasing going on in our house. Often, the brunt of the mocking falls on the youngest sibling, Owen, who is ten. We make fun of him for not liking potatoes, or spelling “faucet” the wrong way. Sometimes, we joke about him being married one day and still having his idiosyncrasies, which will have to be endured by his future partner.

“What is your future wife — or husband… spouse — going to think of that?” my dad laughs.

He knows including multiple pronouns is important for our concept of who we can be.

“Wife, Dad. I know,” Owen might say.

But one day, he’ll appreciate having been shown that another kind of love is beautiful and normal, especially when not all of his society thinks that way.

My siblings and I don’t fear being different or the devil or science or rock music. We don’t ignore uncomfortable realities, and we welcome being held accountable for accidental biases. We want to learn, and we’re not afraid if it means the end of some small part of our world. After all, my dad’s world ended some thirty years ago and, since then, a new one has started.

My dad was taught to fear nearly everything as a child, so he makes sure we fear nothing. I want to show others how to breathe and how to learn, so their children can be fearless.

 

Gold

January 19, 2017

I woke up today to the usual chorus of whining dogs on the farm. I arose from my small bed and looked over to the clock. 5:27 AM, it read. Mama and Baba would still be asleep. Time to start the morning chores.

I put my shoes on and went over to the small kitchen. I had harvested the wheat yesterday, so I still had enough to make a whole batch of baozi. I kneaded some dough and went outside to harvest some cabbage for the filling. As Mama had taught me, I left some for later. I trudged back to our house with three small cabbage leaves. I added them to the flour and meticulously pinched the top so the cabbage would stay inside. I filled our only pot with water and dropped the dumplings in, one by one. I put them on the stove and waited for them to cook.

As I was about to harvest some rice for tonight’s dinner, I witnessed Baba’s sleepy face coming into view.

“Good morning, Baba,”  I said to him.

Baba nodded and went out the back to the dog meat farm.

I turned off the heat on the pot and took out the dumplings, careful not to burn my work-worn fingers. Baba came back from the farm and asked to talk to me. I nodded yes and sat down on the concrete floor with him.

“HuiNing,” he started, “I come with great news!”

The only thing more joyous than the words he was speaking was his face. It was the first time in about ten years that I saw him smile. He was smiling so wide that his gold tooth was showing, and the tips of my mouth curled up as well.

“We have received an offer from a kind gentleman by the name of Mr. Chen,” he continued. “He runs the Lychee & Dog Meat Festival in Yulin, and he has offered one hundred thousand yuan in exchange for 2,000 pounds of dog meat!”

I smiled, but it wasn’t as full as Baba’s. I knew it was a big deal, since our farm had never been successful. Furthermore, I was never a dog lover, but something didn’t seem right.

“That’s great news, Baba!” I half-lied. “I’m off to school now.”

I grabbed my small school bag and trudged out the door. When I got to school, I sat in the back of the classroom as usual. I couldn’t focus on what the teacher was saying today. My mind kept drifting out to the deal and what would happen. I knew Baba was never a big fan of our dog farm, but I knew he did it for our own good. Before, the dogs seemed like just a way to keep food on the table. But now, I wasn’t so sure what would happen to the dogs.

 

January 28, 2017

Today is the start of the New Year. We are off from school, so I took the day to prepare for the feast tonight. I harvested some yu, or fish, from the rice paddy, a symbol for prosperity. I also harvested some rice and turnips to make tang yuan and luo buo gao. I spent the whole day cooking, but my mind was drifting off again. The whines of dogs drowned out all my thoughts so much that I almost burned the fish.

As I was setting the food on the table, Baba came home with a huge tray of dumplings.

Mama gasped. “Are you sure we can afford those?” she said.

“We might as well use the money to treat ourselves ahead of time,” Baba smiled. “This will definitely be an auspicious year, starting it off with a promise to live a comfortable life!”

That was when I knew the sale was coming closer – and quickly.

 

January 29, 2017

Baba was sick to his stomach today since he ate so much last night. Since he couldn’t feed the dogs, I volunteered to take care of them for the day. It was a long walk, since the dogs were kept such a long distance away from the house. As I got closer and closer, the whining became more and more clear. But the only thing that was worse than the sound was the sight. About five dogs were stuffed into each of about twenty tiny cages. The barbed wire cut into their skin.

Mama had directed me to give them only a small bit of food. But my morals instructed me to give them at least twenty ounces per cage, so that’s what I did. As the dogs ate with great gusto, I noticed one that looked too scared to even eat. Instead of eating like the others, he looked up at me with his big, hazel eyes. He had golden fur, and he was a bit smaller and frailer than all of the rest. He looked just like me, a little part in a big world. Immediately, I knew I couldn’t leave him in this cruel place. I had to save him.

I cut the wire with my pocket knife and took him out, but he yelped as the barbed wire poked into his leg. I examined the spot. Fortunately, it didn’t look too bad. I gave him some more food, and he ate it quickly. He must have been starving in there. He licked my face, and it brought up a feeling that I had never experienced before, a mixture of compassion and raw emotion. As I was carrying him back, I forgot an important aspect: Where would I keep him? That’s when I was struck with the sad feeling that the rescue may not be successful.

But then, I remembered something: there was the box that contained all the dumplings Baba bought. It would definitely be big enough, and it could go under my bed.

Now, what would I name him? The first thing that came to mind was jing, or “gold.” He may not be worth much to somebody else, but he was gold to me. I stuffed Jing under my shirt so Mama wouldn’t notice him. He started to fall asleep, breathing slowly and steadily. When I reached my small room, I placed Jing on my bed. He stretched out, and I could have sworn that his lips curled into a smile. I stroked his fur, which was rough and coarse. I made a mental note to bathe him at some point.

Trusting that Jing would wait there, I snuck out to the kitchen to take the jiaozi box. I brought it back to my room and poked some holes at the top so Jing could get some air. I divided it into two parts: one for sleeping, and one for going to the bathroom. I added some cotton, from my small pillow, and some old paper and moved Jing into the box. He was so quiet. It seemed as if he knew that he might be caught and sent back if he made a sound. Jing curled up again, but kept his beautiful smile.

 

February 11, 2017

I had saved up my money from the last week to buy a small bottle of shampoo from the market. I ran back home, hoping Baba wouldn’t catch me and be suspicious. When I got to my room, I took Jing, who was playing with the cotton at the bottom of the box. I laughed but stopped myself, hoping nobody would wonder what was happening. I took Jing to the stream and squirted some shampoo on his fur. I rinsed him off with some of the water and stroked it through his now silky fur. He shook the water off, and he looked exactly like a cotton ball. It was the first time I’d really enjoyed myself for as long as I can remember.

 

February 23, 2017

It had become part of my daily morning routine to take care of Jing. I changed the paper, and I put half a baozi in the pocket of my mianpao to save for him. I go to my room, stroke Jing, and give him the baozi. He eats with great relish, and I usually start to smile. But not today.

Today, I noticed a drop of blood coming out of Jing’s left front leg. I looked closer, and the top of his leg was swollen. Jing was still eating, and he didn’t look like he was in pain. I knew I couldn’t afford a veterinary bill for Jing, so I put some soothing herbs on it for now.

That day, at school, I wondered what it would be like to not worry about money. I know that’s why Baba wanted to sell the dogs, but there had to be a better way.

 

March 2, 2017

Days have passed, and the soothing herbs weren’t helping. I’ve started saving up some money to buy him some ointment. I hugged Jing tightly. I didn’t want to let him go.

 

March 14, 2017

I’ve saved up the money to buy some ointment. After school, I ran straight to the market. With the pharmacist’s recommendation, I bought a small tube of ointment and some gauze to wrap the wounded spot. With no time to waste, I ran home to Jing. I lathered some ointment on the wound and wrapped the gauze around it. Jing yelped when I put the gauze on. Beads of sweat started forming from my forehead. What would Baba say if he heard that? I told Jing to quiet down and hid him under my bed. Just then, Mama walked in my room.

“HuiNing, did you hear something?” she questioned, looking confused.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe from the dog farm?” I suggested.

“Yeah. Probably,” Mama replied and walked off.

Phew!

I wiped the sweat off my forehead and hugged Jing. Then, I thought of something. Jing is only one of the thousands of dogs being treated like he was. What if I could help them out, too? But the more I thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. What could I do? I’m just a small part in this big world.

 

March 21, 2017

Jing’s leg was looking somewhat better, but maybe I was being optimistic. I tried to lift the gauze up to see how the wound was doing, but he moved it away. That couldn’t be too good. I gave him his baozi, stroked his fur, and walked off. Healing takes time, right?

 

April 3, 2017

I sat in the back of the classroom as always, constantly biting my nails. Jing’s leg wasn’t looking much better this morning. When I was doodling on my paper, the first thing that came to mind was Jing. I wasn’t taking note of what would happen if anyone saw me, but someone did. Meixin, the most popular girl in school, was apparently looking over my shoulder.

“Is that your dog?” she whispered, paying careful attention to where the teacher was looking.

I blushed and nodded. Why was she looking over my shoulder? I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Why is his leg swollen?”

“It got infected from the barbed wire in his cage,” I whispered. “He would have been slaughtered and eaten.”

Meixin gasped, “You’re joking. Who even eats dog meat?”

“Tons of people,” I started. “There’s a whole festival.”

I was too embarrassed to tell Meixin about our farm.

“Someone’s going to have to stop that,” she said, scrunching her face up.

“It’s hard, okay? We’re just little parts of a big world.”

Meixin started to shake her head, but the the teacher caught a glance of her. She shrunk back into her seat. She scribbled something on a paper and handed it to me.

Meet me at my locker after school, it read. So that’s what I did.

“Operation: Dog Rescue,” Meixin started.

I just shook my head. “It’s not worth it! Nothing’s going to happen. Plus, what do you even know about this?”

“There’s no harm in trying,” she said optimistically. “I’ve researched it during lunch,” she added.

I sighed. I knew Baba wouldn’t be too happy about this. But I couldn’t just let all those dogs die.

“Okay,” I replied, still shaking my head. “I’ll help you with this, but just don’t get your hopes up.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We have a chance. Chances can go a long way. First, we start schoolwide,” Meixin started. “Let’s hand out fliers and make a club. We can use my computer.”

“Okay, then,” I said, a little more positive.

Then, I sighed. What luxury to have a computer at your fingertips!

“I’ll come back tomorrow with the fliers,” Meixin said. “What’s your dog’s name anyway?”

“Jing.”

She nodded. I knew she knew why I chose that name.

We both said goodbye to each other. For once, I actually thought this idea had a chance. That was more than I could ever ask for.

 

April 4, 2017

Meixin and I posted the fliers around school. By the end of the day, we already had seven people asking to join. I smiled almost as wide as Baba did when he was first given the offer. This really meant a lot to me. It meant that we had a chance of saving thousands of dogs’ lives. But I felt a tinge of guilt about Baba.

I checked the time. I said a quick goodbye to Meixin and darted back home. Baba would be really suspicious if I stayed even a minute later. I checked on Jing, who was sleeping. I hugged him, and he licked my face affectionately. I smiled. Jing went back to sleep. I noticed that he was sleeping a lot more these days.

 

April 17, 2017

When I went to school this morning, I received some of the best news I’ve ever heard from Meixin.

“The website is almost ready. All we need is specific information, maybe something about your dog,” she said.

“Thank you so much!” I exclaimed and threw my arms around Meixin.

We embraced for a second, and then I nodded. “I’ll bring my dog tomorrow. We can take pictures and write about him.”

Meixin raised an eyebrow. “You really think nobody will notice him?”

I nodded confidently. “Believe me, if I’ve been keeping him in my house this whole time, keeping him at school for a day is nothing. He never makes a sound.”

 

April 18, 2017

After stroking him a couple of times and making sure he did his business for the day, I moved Jing into my schoolbag. Today, I was careful not to jumble my schoolbag around too much on my commute to school.

Meixin met me at my locker, waiting for me to open my schoolbag. When I did, Meixin said, “Aww!”

I told her to remain quiet so she wouldn’t attract attention.

“Sorry!” she answered, “Jing’s just so cute! How do people have the heart to do this to innocent dogs?”

“That, I don’t know the answer to,” I replied, thinking of my parents.

To them, the dogs were a way to support our lives.

We took some photos of Jing and loaded them onto the website. By then, class was about to start, so I kept Jing in my locker. We agreed to come back after school to continue.

At class that day, I fiddled with my pencil. The clock couldn’t tick fast enough. I wanted to go check on Jing, so I asked for a bathroom pass. I went to my locker, and Jing was asleep as usual. I stroked his head, and he rolled over on his stomach. My lips curled into a smile. I stroked his soft fur as he slowly went to sleep, his beautiful smile almost as wide as mine.

After giving Jing a stick to chew on, I went back to class, hoping I hadn’t taken so long. Unfortunately, it had been almost 10 minutes since the time I left. The teacher gave me a dirty look.

“What took you so long?” she demanded.

I was able to make up a believable story about losing the bathroom pass and having to look everywhere for it. She nodded and ushered me back to my seat. I sighed in relief. If she didn’t believe me, that could have been bad.

Finally, the final bell rang. I sprinted to my locker, overjoyed to get started. Meixin came along with her computer a bit later. She asked me to write something about Jing and handed me the computer.

This is Jing, I started. His front leg is infected from a rusty barbed wire cage. He was too scared to eat much and would have either starved to death or died of his wounds if I hadn’t saved him. Jing isn’t the only dog who has had these experiences. Millions of other dogs live like this. It’s up to us to stop it.

Meixin read it and started tearing up. “If this doesn’t draw people,” she said, “I don’t know what will.”

 

May 2, 2017

It had been two weeks since the website had been posted. After school, Meixin met me at my locker, smiling.

“We’ve already got 1,000 people to sign our petition!” she said.

We both cheered.

“Meixin, I think it’s time that I tell you something,” I started. “My family actually owns a dog meat farm, and that’s where I saved Jing from. My father got an incredible offer from the festival owners, and I hope you’ll understand that it’s not something that I support.”

Meixin nodded, “I’m so sorry. This must be so hard for you.”

We said goodbye to each other, and I ran home to Jing. I darted into my room, threw my school bag on my bed, and frantically grabbed the box from under the bed.

“Jing!” I whispered excitedly, moving him from the box to my arms.

Jing perked his head up, eager to hear what I had to say.

“It’s working! We’ll be able to stop the festival!”

Jing smiled but looked as if he wanted to go back to sleep.

“How’s your leg doing?” I asked, removing the gauze as he tried to move his wounded spot.

I noticed that it was turning purple. I wiped away a tear.

“You’ll make it, Jing. I know you will.”

But even then, I wasn’t so sure.

 

May 15, 2017

After a week and a half of changing out the gauze and using new ointment, Jing’s leg was looking the same as it was before. When Meixin came to tell me that we had 12,000 supporters. I couldn’t smile for real. Meixin noticed and asked me what was wrong.

“Jing’s leg isn’t looking so good,” I replied.

“Why don’t you take him to the vet then?” Meixin suggested.

“It’s not like I have the money. Vet bills are expensive, you know,” I replied, firmly.

My mind drifted again to how luxurious it must be, not having to worry about money.

“I’m sorry…” Meixin responded quietly.

“Don’t be,” I said, keeping my firm tone. “I’m sure you could afford a vet bill any day. It’s not like you’d know anything about how hard I’d have to work for it.”

I walked away to my first class. Meixin didn’t meet me at my locker at the end of the day as usual. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that?

 

May 26, 2017

Meixin met me at my locker that morning. But this time, she didn’t look like her usual pristine self. I noticed that she was more tan than the last time I saw her, and she had various scratches all over her body. Her eyes also looked more sleepy.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I’ve decided to walk a few steps in your shoes,” she started, “and it’s harder than I’ve ever worked before. Long, strenuous days with low pay.”

“Wow,” I replied, surprised, “You’d really did that?”

She nodded. “And I made 175 yuan,” she said. “That should cover some of Jing’s vet bill.”

Thank you!” I exclaimed a little too loudly.

I hugged her tightly, tucked the money into the pocket of my school bag, and ran off to my first class. After school, I grabbed Jing and ran to the veterinarian’s office.

“This is Jing,” I told the lady at the front desk. “His front left leg is infected. Can I have an estimate as to how much his vet bill would cost?”

She examined him and turned to me.

“Twenty-five would be generous,” she said plainly.

“Here you go!” I said, overjoyed as I handed her 25 yuan.

The lady looked at it and laughed. It wasn’t a warm laugh, but quite the opposite. It was a laugh that froze your insides with embarrassment.

“No, sweetie. Twenty-five hundred. I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be carrying around that much,” she said as I was checking my pockets.

“Thank you,” I gulped, taking Jing back home.

Twenty-five hundred yuan was probably the combined income we made in a year! There was no chance of getting medical care for Jing. I put him back in his box and wiped away my tears. It wasn’t going to work. I had to face reality.

 

May 29, 2017

“So, how’d it go?” Meixin asked me at my locker.

I just shook my head. “There’s no way I’m getting 25 hundred yuan, even if I skip school to work.”

Meixin just nodded. At least we didn’t argue this time.

“Well, I’ve decided to brace myself for the worst with Jing and move on,” I said, a hot tear rolling down my cheek. “There are thousands of other lives I can focus on. How many people support us as of right now?” I asked, wiping away my tears.

“About 4,500,000,” she replied, but not with her usual enthusiasm. “We need about 500,000 more, but that should be easy since it keeps getting sent all over the internet.”

“Wow,” I replied.

Saving lives of thousands of dogs would be a huge victory, even if I’m letting one go in the process. One special dog, my heart kept telling me.

 

June 12, 2017

Jing’s leg kept looking worse and worse, and he was sleeping more and more. At least his little, golden heart was still beating. He licked my face this morning for what I thought may be the last time.

When I got to school, Meixin told me that we got all the signatures needed, and it was being sent to the owners of the festival. I forced half a smile.

“I’m-” Meixin started, but I assured her that it was okay. I wish I could’ve assure myself that.

 

June 19, 2017

This morning, Jing barely had the appetite to eat his baozi. He only ate a couple nibbles before he went back to sleep. I couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen when he didn’t eat at all.

I got some better news when I went to school, though.

“Look, HuiNing!” Meixin exclaimed with the widest smile I’d ever seen her wear.

She handed me a newspaper. The headline read, Lychee and Dog Meat Festival in Yulin Canceled.

My eyes truly lit up for the first time in weeks. Thousands of lives would be saved! I was in a good mood for the rest of the day… until I got home.

An obvious negative result came into play that I had thought about before. Baba was even worse than his previous sleepy-faced self. He was counting on that offer. All his life, he’d been working so hard for a chance. A chance like the one that I had taken from him.

“HuiNing, I have to tell you something,” he said when I walked in the door. “They canceled the festival. We have to return to our normal selves.”

I felt so guilty, not only because I was responsible for this, but also because I did it behind his back. I felt so guilty that I decided to tell him the truth, something I would never do otherwise.

“Baba, I have something to tell you,” I said. Baba turned around to look at me. I continued, “It was my fault that you lost the offer.”

Baba just shook his head. “I know you feel bad, but…”

“No, seriously. I created the petition that forced them to cancel the festival. I couldn’t just let all those dogs die. But, listen, Baba. I have an idea. How about instead we clean up the dogs and open an adoption center? We could make the same, if not greater, amount of money.”

Baba frowned and opened his mouth to say something, but I continued talking, “When you were sick, and Mama asked me to feed the dogs, I kept one in my bedroom. He has an infection on his leg and has golden fur. He has the most beautiful smile, and he means the world to me. His name was Jing, and he is slowly dying of infection from his wounds.”

Baba shook his head, but he had a glint in his eyes as he looked deep into mine. “I tell you what,” he said. “We’ll deal with what to do with our farm later. First things first: we have a dog to save.”

My eyes opened wide. “Baba! The estimated vet bill is 2,500 yuan! Where are we going to get that money?”

Baba just smiled. “Some things are worth more than money, HuiNing. We better go before we waste any more time.”

I gave Baba a big hug around his neck. And he hugged me back. I led him to my room, where I took Jing out of the box.

“I guess the jiaozi were worth it!” he joked.

We put Jing in the basket of his two-seater bike. He climbed into the front seat, and I took the back seat. We pedaled as fast as we could, finally reaching the veterinarian’s office. The woman at the desk seemed to recognize me. She started to say something, but she saw that I was with my dad and closed her mouth.

“Twenty-five hundred yuan. Here you go,” Baba said, writing a check.

“Sorry, sir,” the woman started with a grin that matched her laugh. “I would estimate about 3,000 yuan right now.”

Baba gulped but barely hesitated to write another check. Just then, the head veterinarian stepped in.

“Daiyu, let me take care of this one,” he said.

Daiyu rolled her eyes and walked off. The head veterinarian introduced himself as Dr. Yingjie Zhong. He and Baba shook hands. Dr. Zhong examined Jing, and his eyes opened wide.

“This dog needs immediate medical attention!” Dr. Zhong said, and started to speed walk to his office with Jing in his arms.

“What about billing?” Baba asked.

“There’s no time to discuss that right now. A life is much more valuable than money,” Dr. Zhong replied.

I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

 

June 20, 2017

Jing is still at the veterinary office. I visited it this morning before school, but Dr. Zhong told me that Jing was having surgery and couldn’t be visited. I nodded and went to school. The idea of Jing being okay seemed much less distant now that he is under medical care. But there still was a big chance that he wouldn’t survive.

I told Meixin about Jing’s status at school. She looked overjoyed.

“Jing has a chance!” she exclaimed.

A chance, I thought. Not a promise, but a chance.

 

June 23, 2017

The clock barely moved for the last three days. With each tick, I wondered if Jing was still alive and breathing, especially when Baba took me to Dr. Zhong’s office at the end of school. My heart was beating rapidly.

What if they couldn’t fix Jing’s leg? What if it was too late? What if…

I stepped in the door, and my mind went blank. I shut my eyes as tight as possible. The sight of Jing’s lifeless body lying on the table would be unbearable.

After I finally braced myself for the worse, I plucked up enough courage to open my eyes. I was right about one thing. Jing’s body was lying on the table. But he opened his eyes! Jing perked his head up, thumping his tail on the table.

He’s alive!” I exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

He had his beautiful smile as he did before. The only thing that was missing was his front leg, but a missing leg could never make him any less valuable. After all, gold doesn’t lose it’s value over time.

 

EPILOGUE

Dr. Zhong charged no fee for Jing’s treatment. Baba vowed to repay him someday. Apparently, the story about how I stopped the festival went all over the news. The President of China was so amazed, that he granted us enough money to turn the dog meat section of our farm into an adoption center, which was also all over the news. Since so many people heard about it, our farm and adoption center became one of the most popular places in all of China. We made even more money than we would have gotten from the offer.

Our first adopter was none other than Meixin and her family.

Meixin just shook her head and smiled. “Like I said before, chances can go a long way.”

 

A Collection of Fears

Account One: Creating

I think my biggest fear is creating something of little worth. More than that, creating something that floats around aimlessly in space on its own, not meaning anything to anyone. No one would be paying attention to it. No one would be bothering to even glimpse at it. Or, if someone did look at it, they would be detached, unfeeling, uncaring towards this thing. What’s the point of making something if no one even cares?

You could do it for self-fulfillment, to tell yourself, Wow, I made something. But that only satisfies you a bit for a certain amount of time before fading into a sad, insignificant speck.

I see other creators who are widely successful. It’s crazy, the amount of people who like them. People are inspired by them! People are actually changed by them. Isn’t that insane?

But I also see creators who create and create and create. But they get nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that’s terrifying.

 

Account Two: Grainy Memories

When I was younger, my friends and I would run down hills, climb and fumble on top of gray-red slides, and build fantastic things of imagination, only to leave it alone and start a new project. Even with a cold, fall wind whispering about the incoming winter, nipping at our noses and ears, we still played outside, hugging our knees, and leaning on our toes while trying to capture crickets. The next year, we didn’t go outside as much.

One day, we stayed inside as the clouds clung together, rumbling ever so softly once or twice. My friend’s phone glowed bright on her face, and her hair spread out behind her since she was lying atop of the table. I sat on a squished chair, that was meant for equally-as-squished toddlers, sketching with flat, teal crayons that would go in every direction except for where I wanted them to go.

My other friend was opposite from me. Her arms were crossed, and her head was comfortably placed on them.

“I’m so bored.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember pretending to do gymnastics at the old building?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

We kept on sitting there, each to their own, by ourselves, with the rain randomly tapping the window.

 

Account Three: The Dark

The dark is an unknown expanse that swallows anything with its boneless jaws. In a house, it’s unbearable. Every whining creak from old, wooden floorboards made in the 60’s, every soft whirr from basement machines, every sound fills me up till it’s overcome by an even more booming heartbeat.

God, I almost want to laugh at myself. The dark? Seriously? Especially in my own home? One that I’ve lived in for so long, that the smell of it is my blanket. Each squeaking floorboard engraved into my very being, and I know every secret. Yet, here I am, struggling at 1 a.m., trying to walk to my own bed. Groping the walls while I lie to myself that I am okay. I am definitely okay. Ha.

The light reveals – no, confirms – everything that I know. Everything is in its proper place, and I am perfectly sure that nothing will change. But in the dark, that comfort is replaced by uncertainty. I think that the bag I just stepped on is mine? Or is it my sister’s? Maybe that’s my bedroom over there? Or maybe it’s my mom’s bedroom. No, it’s my mom’s bedroom. I can hear her light snore.

In the dark, my once-assured guffaws at serial killers and slippery demons that crawl along the walls, with deception slithering out of their grinning lips, fade away into fake chuckles. The kind that the main characters of a horror movie does in order to persuade themselves that nothing is wrong, and they won’t die. But they usually die.

In the end, I do make it to my bed, the bright, neon clock in our room glows on the silhouette of my sister. I lie down. I cover my entire head with my quilt and try to sleep.

 

Account Four: Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

I hate making the wrong choice or feeling like I’ve made the wrong decision. What if that wrong choice leads to a terrible future, which then makes my life miserable, and all of that terribleness is just because of something I had decided?

So I sit down in the middle of the room. My arms are holding my legs close to my breathing chest. And I sit, eyes closed, doing absolutely nothing.

On the flip side, I hate missing chances, chances that could be absolutely amazing, and change my world someway, somehow. So I stay in this stalemate, where I sit and refuse to do a thing.

 

Account Five: Love

I’m afraid of love. More specifically, I’m afraid of loving someone so much that the love is squeezed out of me until I’ve fallen out of it. Then that would mean I was never really in love with that person. Or maybe I was. I suppose I was in love when I only knew them for what I perceived them to be rather than for who they were. Maybe I was in love with only half of the person, or maybe just a quarter, or maybe even less.

People romanticize the idea of falling in love. This flowery, rosy affair where both parties are happy. But what happens when you spend too much time with them? What happens once the rose petals and pastry crumbs are dusted off? What happens then?

Of course, a good, healthy relationship goes beyond the flat gifts and compliments. It’s a deeper understanding of that person. It’s the maturity to know that a person is a multi-faceted being that needs more than just hugs and soft kisses on cheeks. It’s for that knowledge to really click. I don’t know if I’ll ever have that kind of relationship, though. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. Who knows.

 

Only One Wearing Black

Luther and I walk quickly out back. I show him to my dad’s grave.

“I’m really sorry, Neena,” Luther says.

I drop down and cry. Luther holds me tight, his cold, ghostly arms against mine. Leaves are falling.

“My dad made my mom so very happy, and she was nice and cheerful, and she also invited guests for dinner,” I cry.

“Shh,” he hushes me.

The reason my mom is so mean is because my dad died, and there is no one there to support her. I was supposed to support her, but I’m so selfish. I don’t care about anyone but me and Luther.

“Neena, will you marry me?” Luther asks from behind me.

I spin around. “What?”

“Will you, Neena Violet Tate, take me as your lawfully wedded husband?”

I clearly hear what he said, but I’m so nervous to answer.

“We are only fourteen and fifteen,” I say.

“I know. But, Neena, I love you, and I can’t afford to lose you,” he says, reaching out to my hand.

“I do,” I say.

He smiles and hugs me. Luther takes my phone out of my jean shorts pocket.

“Hey!” I shriek playfully.

I chase after Luther and my phone. I fall on the ground, laughing. He kneels down to kiss me, so I take my phone back, accidentally hitting the song, “The Show” by Lenka. He picks me up to my feet and dances with me. I have no idea how to dance. I’m not much for dancing but, for him, I do. I can’t help it at all. I’m laughing and dancing with him for the first time, which is incredible.

***

Dear Black Diary,

The day of our wedding was romantic, and no one was there but us and the chirping of birds. I wore a long, black dress that poofed out at the end. I walked down the aisle. Luther looked amazing with his new emo haircut, and his makeup done all black, and I felt amazing. Earlier, we had helped each other with makeup and clothing, and it had been a blast. He called me “gorgeous” this time. No one had called me gorgeous before.

He knows how to make me happy, and he knows how to make himself happy. I hope he knows how much I love him and how good that wedding cake tasted. Even though we are fifteen and fourteen, this was a great wedding and the best wedding. The happiest wedding of our lives. I know he enjoyed it. I cannot believe we got married. Who needs a ring when you’ve got love? By the way, he gave me this journal, as I am the only one wearing black after all!                                                                                                                                                                Love,                                                                                                                                 Neena Black!

 

Only Two

She was alone. She told herself she wasn’t, that she knew her purpose, that she knew how her story was to unfold. But the truth was, she didn’t. She had no idea why she was alive.

She told herself that her friends cared about her, but they obviously didn’t. They weren’t her friends. Not really. She told herself that her parents were just busy, that they tried to be at home with her. They didn’t. They only cared about themselves.

She didn’t know why she was put on the planet we called Earth. She didn’t have a purpose. She wasn’t the most intelligent, she wasn’t the most beautiful, and she didn’t have any special talents to speak of. She was alone.

***

A while later…

She met someone. She found a boy at her school to be friends with. Neither were popular, neither had many friends, and neither had loving parents. But when they were together, it didn’t matter to them. They just had fun by themselves. They didn’t need anyone else.

***

A while later…

He was alone. Mostly. But he found one friend. They didn’t need a group. They didn’t need things. They just talked. And walked. They were friends. He liked her. She was fun. He liked the way the world lit up around her, even if nobody else noticed. He noticed.

***

A while later…

She wasn’t alone. They asked each other out at the same time, both without confidence, both nervous. They laughed about it afterwards, now holding hands.

***

A while later…

She was… something. Not alone, not sad. This was new to her. She was… happy. Before now, she hadn’t known why she was put on this planet, this Earth. She knew now. She was here to be happy, to be with him.

And they were happy by themselves. Only two.

 

Inquisition

Prologue

Dr. Howard

The Tyrian purple carpets of Dr. Howard’s waiting room gave the whole room a medieval feel, like I was waiting within the walls of a castle. Even with the navy blue carpeting in the outside that felt as modern as it could be. It’s funny how once you’re severed from the rest of a building, the entire aesthetic can change. Just like how this room looked like a place suited for royalty, but it felt like some sort of dungeon. My mother had promised me that this would be a “way to practice socialization with other children your age” and “help you get to know people in the real world better.” But let me tell you, it didn’t feel like it would help me whatsoever. Two therapy sessions a week, plus many more at school, was good enough. And I still wish she hadn’t forced me into a group, especially not Dr. Howard’s group. Especially not his.

I took a seat. The chairs were the same color as the carpeting. There were two other kids here: one African-American kid wearing a suit and tie, and another kid with light brown hair who was wearing a T-shirt that stated “If History Repeats Itself, I’m Getting a Dinosaur” in bold, green letters, along with a helpful illustration of a tyrannosaurus rex. They weren’t talking or even looking at each other; one reading his phone and the other a copy of Action Comics which was apparently in the bin of comic books and encyclopedias. The whole place seemed to have an aura of menace to it; I wasn’t sure if that was my own feelings or the serious looks on people’s faces, but it was something.

It took a full five minutes for Dr. Howard to come out of the waiting room and beckon us into the main room. Immediately, I noticed how the slate-grey couches changed the aesthetic a bit more to the modern side of things, but the purple shade of carpet was still there.

“So, today we have a new member of our group,” Dr. Howard began. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

“Um, sure,” I said, caught off-guard by the question.”My name is Theo Moore, and I am in 8th grade at the Peterson Day School.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Howard said, ”Just what I was looking for. Sebastian, would you like to begin the group by introducing yourself to Theo?”

“Alright,” the African-American kid said, “My name is Sebastian. I’m in 9th grade at Lockhart Academy.”

“And why are you here at this group?” Dr. Howard asked.

“My mother recently left my dad and married some new guy. Still trying to cope.”

“And Gregory, why don’t you introduce yourself and your goals?”

The other kid perked up. “Well, my name’s Gregory, and I go to 11th grade at the Candlelight School. I’m apparently here because I’m too ‘intolerant of others’ and a bunch of other crap like that. But for real, I’m just trying to help some Jews at my school figure out the right way through life.”

“So, you’re a Nazi,” I said flatly.

This was not what I was looking for — I was going to be spending an hour and fifteen minutes a week with some crazy racist.

“Dude, Hitler killed eleven million people. That’s bad any way you slice it. But now apparently it’s awful to hate Jews, or to try to convince them to repent, because six million of those guys just happened to be Jewish. So, no, I’m not a Nazi, thank you very much. I’m just a humble anti-Semite, and I wear that badge proudly.”

I looked over at Sebastian, shocked to hear these words coming out of somebody I was supposed to practice bonding with.

“Yep, he’s a Nazi,” he said.

“I am not — okay, whatever. I’m not gonna explain it for the umpteenth time.”

“So, Theo,” Dr. Howard interjected, “What’s your goal for this group?”

“Well, I guess it’d be to be more social with people, as that’s the reason my mother signed me up.”

Everyone nodded. This group would grow to do the opposite of what my mother wanted; it would not turn my social life into a success, but it would actually destroy the remnants of a social life I would grow to have. If my mother had found a different group, and I had never met Gregory Redford, none of this would have happened. None of it.

 

Chapter One

Welcome to Candlelight School

The first time I had heard the term “Asperger’s” was on some YouTube meme; an ad for a McDonald’s burger that aired in some Asian country overseas. I was six, and YouTube was what I used for downtime. Apparently this type of thing was funny to me. The commercial involved a seductive Ronald McDonald pulling a burger from, well, behind his lower back. An “ass-burger,” if you will. Many commenters were smart to notice this and said that they finally understood “ass-burgers,” which I thought was just a funny use of the word. But it was because of my “ass-burgers” that I thought seeing such a tame curse word being used randomly and indiscriminately was funny.

This is the story of how my life went for the first eight years of school. I went to the Peterson School and tried to justify every pamphlet about how it treats kids with “learning differences” as “everyone’s different, and we use that in our teaching.” Medication was just something I thought everyone took; my dad took vitamins for a period of time when I started taking my pills, which reinforced the idea that I was the same. Even when it started to dawn on me, there were still misconceptions. If you had asked me back in 6th grade what my disorder was, I’d say OCD. I exhibited symptoms of it, and I heard people mentioning it, so I thought it had to be what I had. But I eventually found out, even if I couldn’t pinpoint an exact time when I realized I was on the spectrum instead.

But as I realized the fact that I wasn’t the most normal kid, I also realized the benefits. To put it simply, I was smart. I may not have been the most well-mannered kid (far from it), but I ran academic circles around my classmates who couldn’t remember how to format an essay. Obviously, this meant we learned it every single year of school. Eventually, we decided that enough was enough and started to look for a new school. That school became Candlelight. Now, I’m not gonna go into all of the schools that rejected me, because there are a lot. But I will say that Candlelight was probably my second choice once I visited it. It was a great school for me, and I got accepted to the school around mid-May. I ditched Peterson shortly after and was ready to start my new life.

The orientation was fun; this was where I turned in the homework they gave me over the summer and picked my classes. There were five classes in a day: you started with an English class you choose for the whole year, followed by two classes that rotate every seven weeks: A science and social studies class (the latter can be another English class, history, or anything that isn’t science). After that, you have lunch, followed by math, advisory and an afternoon elective. No classes were separated by grade, minus maybe a few of the harder ones. Candlelight was a very small school, only around sixty kids total.

Orientation was fun. But after a long weekend, it was time for business.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome. My name is Julian, and I’ll be your English teacher. This class will be focused on expressing race and identity through literature.”

I chose this class because it was something I was interested in, well, the identity part more than the race part. I’m a white Christian male, but I did have “ass-burgers” to shake things up. Julian was an older man who had brown hair that was greying slightly and thick-rimmed glasses. Simply put, he looked like a professor.

“It looks like you’re all here today. So I’ll begin with you guys introducing yourself to me with your name, grade level, and your favorite soda.”

We started to go around the circle. I think now’s probably a good time to mention something. If you’ve been observant, you may have noticed that Gregory went to Candlelight. He was asked to leave, but he still went there. And of course, that means he told me lots about the happenings of the school. So I know… um, a bit more about the school than some other new kids.

“My name is Emily, I’m in eleventh grade, and my favorite soda is Sprite.” Attempted suicide by sticking her head into a carbon monoxide oven.

“My name is Devon, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is Pepsi!” Cheated on his then-girlfriend because she was overweight.

“My name is April, I’m in tenth grade, and I like most types of orange soda.” Heroin addict, suffers from crippling depression.

“My name is Derrick, I’m in twelfth grade, and my favorite soda is Coke.” Got into a fight with his friend that resulted in a three-week suspension.

“My name is Jeanette, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is Dr. Pepper.” Prone to migraines, tends to often leave class because of them.

“My name is Thomas, I’m in ninth grade, and I love Sprite.” New kid, I think. Not someone I had heard of before.

“My name is Zach, I’m in tenth grade, and my favorite soda is cream soda.” Hoo boy, this one’s a doozy.

If any kid was mentioned in the group more than the others, it was Zach. The Jew. The degenerate. The stubborn kid who wouldn’t accept the evils of Judaism and repent. The kid whose hate-filled stories you didn’t need to read between the lines to figure out: he was being bullied. By Gregory. I felt really bad for the guy, no matter how much Nazi propaganda Gregory spewed about him. It was hard not to. And here he was, sitting in the class, seen for the first time with real eyes from the group. It’s always weird meeting someone like this in person. I mean, I kept insisting that “Zach’s a human being,” but now I knew it.

And finally, myself.

“My name is Theo, I’m in ninth grade, and I’m not a fan of carbonated beverages. I do enjoy Snapple drinks a lot, though.”

***

The rest of the class was a Q&A session with Julian about himself, the class, and what to expect from his classes. After that, we headed to our science classes, mine being a genetics class.

Abe, our genetics teacher, was a little late, so we piled into the room. I sat down and grabbed a Chromebook from the cabinet nearby, going off of the veteran kids who did the same. Everyone was talking… well, except for myself and a couple others who were most likely new. Suddenly, something caught my eye, or rather, ear.

“Looks like Gregory isn’t coming back.”

It was a girl with light brown hair and braids. My heart sank. I hated Gregory, but I was hoping nobody would bring him up.

“Praise the Lord,” muttered another kid I realized was Derrick. “Hallelujah.”

“Are you guys seriously out of the loop? Kid was expelled, like, three weeks before school ended. What, you thought he was going on a trip?” This one was a girl with long, flowing black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a beautiful smile.

“That’s too late, though,” Derrick continued. “Erwin should’ve shut it down as soon at the bullying became apparent. Not waited two or three months until Zach got mental trauma.”

“Yeah, but he’s gone now. Can’t change the past.” Braids again.

“Damage has been done, Valerie,” the other girl said, “Both to Zach, and to me. You have no idea what he’s done to me.”

Before Valerie could inquire what the other girl was talking about, a voice came in from the other room.

“Okay, chuckleheads. Time to start class.”

And thus marked the end of that discussion.

 

Chapter Two

Kelly and Amelia

“Hey, how was your first day, Theo?”

I hopped into my dad’s car as we began to drive home.

“It was fun,” I said.

I didn’t want to mention anything about Gregory to him, about what they talked about in genetics class.

“So what classes did you get?”

“Well,” I began, “I didn’t get geology, but I got genetics. Other than that, I got the race and identity English class, Roman history for social studies, algebra one for a math class, and ceramics as an elective. Pretty much all my first choices.”

“And who’s your advisor?”

“Well, I didn’t get Abe as my advisor like I wanted, but Julian, my actual advisor, seems nice enough.”

We talked until we got home. When we got home, my mother was cooking a pot roast in the slow cooker, and my senior year brother, Lawrence, was at study hall. His school started a week ago, and he was already lagging behind. Stella, my seven-year-old sister, was watching TV.

“So, Theo, Stella,” my mother began, “I am pleased to tell you that Nana and Grandpa have been fully moved to Crisp Gardens, and we’ll be seeing them over the weekend.”

“Does — does that mean we’ve sold their house already?” Stella seemed to be on the verge of tears.

My mother sighed. “Well, technically, not yet. But we’ve been moving stuff out of their house. Uncle Elvin’s currently in Pittsburgh to sort things out.”

Stella started to cry. “But I — I love their house. I don’t want it to be sold! Could we make it, like, a vacation home for the Moore family?”

“Sorry, honey, but there’s really nothing we can do. Houses are expensive; we can’t just buy another one like that.”

“Please? Uncle Elvin could pay half of it! Please?”

“I’m sorry, but you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

Stella stormed upstairs, crying. This has been an ongoing struggle with the family. Amelia, or “Nana” as I call her, has lost her short term memory, and “Grandpa” Paul has been struggling with assisting Nana with everything that she has trouble with these days. I was upset about losing the house, but I didn’t show it. I was never one to cry. Lawrence also doesn’t show it, but I think he’s pretty upset himself. Stella, however, has been taking it hard.

***

The next day, the three of us piled into the car. We first dropped off Stella and Lawrence at the Raymond School, a private, academically competitive school that seriously makes me wonder how my parents pay for our combined tuition. Then, it was just me in the car. When we got there, my dad turned off the radio, currently set to 2000’s hits, and issued me a challenge.

“Hey, so I know it can be hard to socialize, but you can take it slow. I challenge you to say hi to another student. It’s that simple.”

I spent the rest of the day contemplating who the simple hi should be directed at, who might be a kindred spirit, and who definitely wasn’t. Eventually, I decided on Zach, as he probably felt lonely due to the bullying anyway. So I was ready to sit down next to him at lunch when a girl walked up to me. The girl with long, flowing hair who was previously talking about Gregory in my genetics class.

“Hi,” she said.

In what universe does a girl like her walk up to me anyway?

“Um, hi,” I said.

Mission accomplished.

“What’s your name?” She was smiling, and just overall gave an aura of positivity around me.

“Theo,” I responded after three solid seconds after staring into space.

“I’m Kelly. Welcome to Candlelight! Mind if I show you around?”

“I guess,” I said.

My heart sank. Remember when I was talking about how Zach was the most used name by Gregory in our group? Well, Kelly’s up there. Like, really up there. His girlfriend. His pride and joy who he would always talk about quite creepily. And then, she cheated on him with someone from her hometown. Walter or something. They broke up shortly after. I walked with her, but it was more of a sleepwalk, because I was barely hearing her talking. I was thinking about Kelly, and how she cheated on Gregory. I didn’t blame her, but it was still quite a jerk move. I knew my way around, so it didn’t matter whether I was listening to her tour.

We got to the upstairs area, and I tuned back in. Her voice was very beautiful and uplifting. Why would she go out with someone like Gregory anyway? Whatever. After the tour, we decided to eat lunch together. My mother had made pasta with sausage sauce last night, and so I ate that.

“So what school did you go to before Candlelight?”

“Peterson,” I responded.

“Ooh, just across the street!”

It was true; Peterson was really close to Candlelight. Most people’s reactions to hearing that someone went to Peterson would say something like “What do you have?” or “Autism or ADHD?” Something that would make you feel a little uneasy. But she was nice about it, just pointing out other things relating to Peterson other than “the bad kids” that go there.

“Yeah, it’s nice because we don’t have to change our morning routine. We can still drop my siblings off at Raymond before dropping me off.”

“Wow! You have siblings that go to Raymond?”

I could see genuine wonder in her eyes; Raymond is a very selective school. `

“Yep. Sister and a brother. Brother’s not taking it well, though. Senior year and his attention’s still elsewhere.”

“Oh. Hope he’s going to do better later, especially in such a crucial year.”

Kelly was actually really good at keeping up a conversation with me, and I felt at home. I didn’t forget the cheating part, but I kept it in the back of my mind as we hit it off. She was clearly more than Gregory said about her.

***

“So, what grade are you in, Theo?” Amelia had asked me this not half an hour ago.

I felt bad for her, but Lawrence was just annoyed. Sorry, I mean “Elvin,” my uncle’s name, and the name Amelia was calling Lawrence for a while.

“Ninth,” I sighed.

I was getting tired of it, too, but it wasn’t her fault. Therefore, I kept it in.

“Sorry, could you speak a little louder, sweetheart?”

“Ninth,” I said, accentuating my voice.

I made sure that she could hear.

“Oh, ninth! You know, when I was in ninth grade–”

“Come on!” Lawrence growled before my father walked him out of their room in the assisted living complex.

A brief silence.

“Continue?” I asked, to my mother’s delight.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes. Ninth grade, right?”

I nodded.

“Yes, when I was in ninth grade I went to a new school. I told the whole place that at the old school I went to, I was a cheerleader! I wasn’t, though, but people believed it! It was truly delightful to see all the young men there crushing over me. But halfway through the year, a girl I knew from my last school came. And you see, she actually was a cheerleader. The illusion broke, and everyone hated me. I was the loneliest kid in the–”

“That’s enough, Amelia,” Paul said very directly.

This story was new to me, but apparently not to Paul.

“What she’s trying to say is not to pretend to be someone else. It will backfire.”

“Okay,” I muttered. I waited a while and then said, out of earshot from my mother, “What if you just told half the story? Where nothing I said was a lie, but I still don’t mention the bad stuff?”

Paul looked into my eyes and said to me, “Then you’re playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette.”

 

Chapter Three

The Smackdown

It was not yet two weeks into my class when the first conflict happened.

It was early morning, at around 8:00 a.m. I got seated in the classroom early, as I usually did so I wouldn’t be late. Jeanette and Derrick came in together a few minutes after, then April and Emily. Then Devon, then Zach, then Thomas. We all got seated and waited. All the students were there. And none of us really noticed that Julian, the only member of the class who needed to be there, was not.

After a short while, Derrick spoke up. “Hey Thomas, where were you yesterday? You’ve missed school three days in a row.”

Thomas, who was typically the quiet kid, muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry,” Derrick responded, “what did you say?”

“I said, it’s none of your business,” said Thomas, with the nastiest tone he could have used.

“Okay, sheesh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if it was personal. Sorry if it was a problem. I mean, if you’re depressed or anything, I’m free to talk whenev–”

Smack. Next thing I noticed, Derrick was on the floor, rubbing his cheek.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you little shit!”

He jumped up and charged at Thomas, knocking him to the floor and beginning to choke him. Thomas started kicking frantically until one of his kicks hit a part of Derrick that I shall not mention in this text. Derrick let go and ran back. Thomas punched him again. Zach pulled out his phone.

“Do not talk to me again. Period. Got it?”

Thomas kept punching him over and over again. Zach held his phone in the air, apparently filming the sequence of events. Derrick raised his fist up in the air and hit him hard in the head, knocking Thomas over and onto the ground.

“Ow…” Thomas replied, clenching his head.

“That’s what you get,” Derrick said angrily.

He marched away and back to his seat. I looked down at Thomas, who was now in pain a mere nine inches away from the back right leg of my chair. He looked at me back in agony. I ran up the flight of stairs that took you from my English classroom in the basement up to the main floor, and burst into the front office.

“Um, I think we’re gonna need a teacher in Julian’s classroom quickly. Please.”

The next day, I entered the common room for morning announcements. When I walked in, I noticed an large, old man with white sideburns and little hair other than those sideburns. It was Erwin, the head of the school.

“Greetings,” he began when we went into the room. “Now I’m sure some of you had heard about the fight yesterday between Thomas and Derrick in the English classroom, or at least a tiny snippet of what happened yesterday.”

Everyone nodded.

He continued. “It was quite the nasty fight. Thomas is currently in the hospital from a minor concussion, and the rest of the people involved have been disciplined accordingly. There have been many fights at Candlelight. But very few reach the level that this one did. Remember: once you decide to put hands on another person, the entire situation escalates beyond your control. And none of you got a teacher in the room until the damage was done. I thank Theo for what he did, but honestly, he should have found someone at least a full five minutes before Thomas hit his head on the tiled floor of our classroom. Devon could have done it too, as could have April, or Emily, or anyone there, really. But nobody made the right choice in time, and the price was paid. Zach is currently facing a two-day suspension for his decision to film the incident. Thomas will be returning to the school after his own suspension and head injury are each taken care of. But Derrick, due to having a history of fights much like this one, will not be returning to our community here at Candlelight. I hope you understand the severity of this incident, and that we will not tolerate something like this again. Have a good day, and go to class.”

The whole day had a bit of a somber undertone to it, mostly due to the long speech Erwin gave about the fight I stopped. I did feel bad about not getting to the front office earlier, but Erwin grilled me about this whole incident, and I was on the verge of tears.

So, thinking that telling a group of people meant to comfort me and keep my secrets safe would’ve been a good idea can be forgiven.

***

“Hold on? Derrick was expelled? Finally, I thought that dude would never go.”

“Please, Gregory,” I said, “this isn’t something I want to make light of, okay? It was a shocking experience for me.”

“Yeah, but not as much of a shocking experience for this Thomas kid, am I right?” he winked at me.

Gregory has a tendency to make jokes that only he out of the entire room didn’t hate.

“Please stop!”

“Okay, okay. And what did you say Zach did? Filmed the thing?”

“Yeah,” I muttered.

I did not like where this was going.

“That degenerate has always liked watching people suffer. Just like the Jewish elite care so little about anyone minus themselves. It’s in their blood.”

For the past few months, Gregory had been looking at a website dedicated to “exposing” the Jewish conspiracy behind all our money and has gone from a “humble anti-Semite” to a full-on lunatic about this stuff.

“He’s not a degenerate. Seriously, stop calling him that.”

“Can’t stop calling him that if it’s the truth.”

“Please, please stop.”

“Okay, okay,” interjected Dr. Howard. “We get the point, Gregory, you don’t like Jews, and you don’t like Zach. Theo has asked you to stop, so please stop.”

Gregory sighed. “Fine.”

Sebastian, known to give great advice to both myself and Gregory, spoke up. “I know that principals can be tough on us, but he’s punished who he’s wanted to punish. You did the right thing, even if it was a bit late to the party. Don’t keep feeling bad for yourself.”

“Thanks,” I said, even if I didn’t feel much better.

***

I didn’t hear anything more about this until Thursday, two days after my group meeting with Gregory and Sebastian and the day Zach got out of his two-day suspension. It just so happened that when I was about to go to lunch with Kelly, Zach had walked up to her and started talking.

“Listen, Kelly. We’re kindred spirits here. Both of us have been wronged by Gregory. So I feel it’s important for you to see this first.”

Kelly let out a small “Mhm”, and I walked up to them.

“Hey Theo, this is Zach,” Kelly said, clueless about how much I truly know about Zach.

“Hi,” I said, “I believe we’re both in Julian’s English class,” I said matter-of factly, ignoring what happened in that class.

“So you need to know about this too, I guess, considering you saw the fight. Have you heard of Gregory Redford?”

“Know the name,” I said, startled.

“Well, long story short, he’s a bully. Bullied me because I’m Jewish. Got expelled late last year, but it appears the tirade has not yet ended. Listen to this.”

What followed were the most intimidating sixteen sentences of my life.

Listen, I heard what happened yesterday. Two guys duked it out in your class. Beating each other up, choking each other. It was a mess, that’s for sure. And did you alert a teacher? Did you try to intervene? No, you just stood around and recorded it on your phone. How could you do that? Just keep a record of one of the worst fights in Candlelight history? Doesn’t surprise me, honestly. I mean, you people do it all the time. Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Jew. I’m still around. I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

“Wow,” Kelly said. “I thought the guy’s expulsion would be it. Sorry this happened to you.”

“That’s not the problem. I’ve learned to ignore the guy. But listen.” He rewinded the voicemail and played the last five of those sentences.

Don’t think you’re off the hook yet, Jew. I’m still around. I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

Rewinded again.

I got a spy at Candlelight reporting everything you do and more. And maybe one day you’ll consider repenting. I sure hope so.

And one more time.

I got a spy at Candlelight—

Paused.

“This is a big deal. Means he still talks to people outside of Candlelight, and they tell him things about the happenings around the school.”

“Is that really a big development?” I asked timidly. “I — I mean, he has to have some friends here.”

“Nope,” Zach said. “Pretty much everyone here hated his guts. Besides, his parents block social media on his devices, so he couldn’t have gotten it that way. This is really big.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said.

I called home sick before math class that day. I had never hated Gregory so much in my life. He broke confidentiality just so he could get a kick out of someone. I mean, what we say in group is supposed to stay in group. And I knew that the “spy” wasn’t anyone who went to Candlelight last year.

I knew it was me.

 

The Smart Oinker

One day, when I was practicing making a sculpture out of wood, Momma Pig came into the living room saying she had an announcement. She said that she wanted me and my two brothers to move out of her house and live in our own home. Surprised by this announcement, I was excited to make my very own home. I said goodbye to Momma and walked through the door with only a cob of corn to eat when I was hungry.

After traveling for days, I had decided on the perfect place to build my house. It was a vast, green meadow with a lot of free land. There was a ten-foot-wide mud pool to bathe in. There was also enough room to grow some crops to eat. I began to work right away. I decided that I was going to make my home out of solid bricks, so it could keep me warm during the cold nights. I had bought some bricks and cement mix from the local store. My plan was to make a four story mansion with its own pig pen. I began to work right away.

After working for a few days, I saw my brothers rolling down the hill, laughing and coming towards me. My brothers’ names were Sausage and Pork Chop. Sausage was the youngest out of all of us; he was cute with big, brown eyes and chubby cheeks and just liked to follow Pork Chop. Pork Chop was the middle child; he was very strong, but he was not very mentally strong. He kinda looked like a surfer but as a pig. In my mind, I really hoped they wouldn’t ruin my perfect home and live near me.

Sausage came up to me and said, “Hi, Bacon!”

“Hi, Sausage and Pork Chop. Why are you guys here?” I asked.

“We decided that we will be living near you. We can’t wait to be neighbor buddies!” yelled Sausage excitedly.

“Oh boy, I can’t wait,” I said.

Though, in my head, I wanted to die. Even though I loved my brothers very much, I couldn’t stand them. Back at Momma’s home, they would always take my stuff and would never work for what they got. They would just play all day with no work. I got back to working on my home while they were tanning in the sun. After a couple of hours of working, I asked if they were going to start working on their homes.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” said Pork Chop.

Then Pork Chop and Sausage got up from tanning and began to work on their homes. I was honestly surprised that they would even start. Ten minutes later, my brothers both yelled “Done!”

“How can you be done? You just started,” I asked, confused.

“Um, well, we started. Now we are finished,” said Sausage.

When I went over to go look at their so called “homes,” I was not surprised by what I saw. Sausage’s house was made out of straw, which he found on the ground, and it looked like he just built a small fort that you can sleep in. When I looked over at Pork Chop’s house, I was happy that they didn’t copy each other. His house was made out of sticks that he pulled off trees. His house was a little larger, but it sure wasn’t better. Both of their homes were just sticks or just straw stacked on top of each other to make four walls and a roof. All I could say in response was “Nice.”

“How’s yours going, Bacon?” asked Pork Chop.

“Good, I’m close to finishing the first floor but I’ll be…”

And before I could finish, my brothers were already gone and were tanning on the grass again. I went back to work, and the same thing happened for the next couple of days, where I would work, and they would have fun like always. One day, I ran out of cement mix, so I decided that I would take a break from working and would grab lunch and grab some cement mix also. After eating at my favorite restaurant called the “Leftovers,” I saw a sign on their cork board that said that a pig-eating wolf had escaped the local prison. I figured that I should hurry up and finish my home before the wolf could find me. When I got back to the meadow, where my brothers were splashing each other in the mud bath, I told them that there was an escaped wolf on the loose that eats pigs.

“Aren’t you guys scared by this news?” I asked.

“Not really,” Pork Chop said. “Our stick and straw homes will hide us from that little wolf.”

“Well, good luck,” I said.

In a few days, I was completely done with my new brick mansion. It was a masterpiece. On the fourth floor, there was a balcony where I could see above the whole meadow. In the kitchen, there was a state-of-the-art metal trough with refilling leftovers. Since I heard about that wolf running around the city, I added high quality locks all around the doors and windows. I put a ten foot high metal fence around my home and added a high tech security camera, so I could see every inch of my house to see if anyone was breaking in. I decided that I was going to show my new home to my brothers and see if they would get jealous. So I went up to my brothers, playing tag in the grass, and asked if they wanted see my home.

“Do we have to?” Sausage asked.

“Yes, I want to show you my hard work,” I told them.

Fineee, we were in the middle of a highly competitive game of tag though.”

Once I had taken them to my house, I told them to cover their eyes so it would be a surprise. They didn’t really care, but they did it.

“Three. Two. One. You can open your eyes,” I yelled

“Cool house.  Can we go back to tag now?” asked Sausage.

“Are you guys jealou…?”

But before I could finish, they were already back to playing tag. I didn’t really care though. I couldn’t wait to go relax in my new home. Days went by where I just relaxed in my pig pen and ate my gourmet corn. Then one night, I saw on my security camera that there was a tall, slender, hairy animal walking around my home. Almost like he was trying to figure out how to get in. The next morning, I went to my brothers’s houses to ask them if they saw anything unusual last night.

“No, not really, but I felt a strong wind through my window, almost like breathing,” said Pork Chop.

“Yeah, I felt that too,” said Sausage.

“Weird, I didn’t feel a wind last night. It was a pretty calm night.” I said with hesitation.

“Well, Sausage and I are going to go play hide and seek. Bye, Bacon,” said Pork Chop.

The next few days, there was a little fear hovering over all of our heads, not knowing what that animal was. Two days later, when I was scrubbing down myself in my mud jacuzzi at midnight, I saw the same animal back again. This time, he was grinning a wide grin, showing all his sharp teeth. At that point, I had figured out it was the pig-eating wolf. I was worried about my pig brothers, whose homes were just a few feet away from mine, though I was too scared to go out with that wolf prowling around. And my lazy brothers didn’t want to install cell phones in their homes, so I couldn’t contact them.

The next morning, when I decided that the coast was clear, I rushed to my brothers’ houses to ask if they were okay. But I was too late. When I got there, Sausage’s house was blown down with no sight of Sausage anywhere. There were just two big footprints left on the ground, along with Sausage’s teddy bear. When Pork Chop got there, he was confused and very emotional. Of course he was sad. He had just lost his favorite brother.

“What happened, Bacon???”

“I don’t know. I saw that wolf that eats pigs on my security camera last night. I think that he might have gotten to Sausage.” I said with sadness.

“Why did you let this happen, Bacon?! Why didn’t you warn us!”

“I don’t know. I was scared. I am sorry!” I yelled.

“Yeah, well, Sausage is gone because of you.”

I later asked Pork Chop if he wanted to stay in my house since it was safer, but he said no. I also asked if I should call the police and see if they could do anything, but he said he was going to deal with it himself. When Pork Chop got mad, he stayed mad and wanted revenge, and I knew that I couldn’t stop him. For a couple of days, nothing happened at all. It was very quiet. And I didn’t see that wolf on my security camera. I supposed that the wolf was gone or he got caught.

One morning, after my cup of joe, I noticed that I couldn’t hear Pork Chop grunting from doing 1,000 push ups everyday. He started doing this since Sausage left. When I went on my balcony to see where he was, I saw his house was knocked down also. I rushed to his home, praying that the same thing didn’t happen to him like what happened to Sausage. Though I was afraid I was too late. I searched around to see if I could find anything left behind. All I could find was a lot of big footprints, a lot of blood, and Pork Chop’s necklace with a picture of our family in it. I started to cry and cry, knowing that I had just lost all of my brothers. Even though I didn’t want them to live next to me or not be as annoying as they were, I didn’t want them to die. I knew that the wolf would be back for me, so I had to be ready. I needed a plan to catch this wolf and put him jail forever. This time, it was my turn for revenge, and no one could stop me.

I bought a bunch of supplies from the hardwood store and built my trap right away. My plan was for dress up a stuffed animal that looked like me right in front of my gate. Then when the wolf would take the bait, a trap door would open from under him and lock him up in a crate. When I finally finished, I waited for days for him to come back. Soon I thought he would never come back. Then one night, when I least expected it, the wolf came back. I was just waiting for the wolf to take the bait so I could release the trap door. And when he finally took the bait, I pressed the button to release the trap door, and the wolf dropped into the crate. I called the police, and they took the wolf away.

For a month, nothing was ever the same. I just wasn’t used to not seeing my brothers playing out in the meadow everyday. I decided that I should go back and visit my mother and tell her about my brothers. When I got back to her house, it brought back many old memories. I went back to my mom’s room, where she usually was and told her I was back.

“Hi, Bacon, how are you doing?”

“I am fine, Mom. How are you?” I asked.

“Good.”

“Do you want something to eat? I could make something?” I asked because she didn’t sound too good.

“No thank you, Bacon. I had two really big meals the past two weeks.”

“Oh?” I said.

“Where are your brothers? Did they not want to come?”

“No, actually this is why I came, because they were murdered.” I said with disappointment.

“Really? By who?”

“I think it was by a pig-eating wolf. But don’t worry, I caught him, and he’s in jail now.” I said, somewhat proud.

I was a bit suspicious at how she didn’t really care about Sausage and Pork Chop’s deaths. Also she sounded a little different.

“I am very proud of you, Bacon.” she said, in a different voice. “I really liked your trap by setting up a fake pig in front of your house.”

“Then… wait, how did you know about that??” I asked, very confused.

“But too bad it didn’t work.”

 

Bonnie Ventura

The building had a gothic feel to it. The windows had black soot stains from years of enduring rain and neglect. The whole place was a dreary sight, not to say that all gothic buildings were dreary. In my book, gothic buildings were the best types of buildings, compared to the square ones that looked like a four-year-old’s Lego experiment. I observed this from my car, of course. The rain poured down in sheets outside, and folks rushed from awning to awning, attempting to get to their small offices in buildings similar to the one I would soon enter. I checked my watch, 8:22 A.M., and sighed begrudgingly. It was just about time. Opening the car door and walking across the street, similar to the folks I had mentioned before. I now had a chance to see if the interior was just as inferior as the exterior. It was.

A secretary sat at a small desk with her ear pressed to a flip phone, the type of over-the-counter phone that drug dealers use. I guess these types of people couldn’t afford nice gadgets, like iPhones that recognize your fingerprints. She talked with a New Jersey accent and looked like she was straight from the eighties with puffy, curly blonde hair and bright blue eye shadow. In short, she looked like a washed-up celebrity.

The rest of the lobby was like her: outdated. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, the hands not moving. The retro waiting chairs were an off-color yellow with flowers embroidered in them, and the coffee table was covered in white chipping paint. Overall, it felt like your grandma’s living room. Cheery.

“No, I already told you I can’t do that for you, Mikey!” the secretary’s voice whined. “It’s above my pay grade!” This was spoken with a sharper tone than before, and without hesitation, the woman slammed the phone shut and placed it on her desk, robotically, shutting her eyes like a jaded schoolteacher.

“Cheery place you got here.”

“You think so?” she asked.

“Sure. If you like nursing homes.” She rolled her eyes.

“Do you happen to know something of an Arlo White?” I said, taking out my cigarette pack and plucking one out of its tightly packed box.

“Can’t you see this is a bad time to run your mouth?” she asked.

“It’s always a bad time to run your mouth.” I flipped my lighter open and the tobacco blazed.

“You can’t smoke in here,”she said. Slowly, I lifted my eyes so that I was looking at her from under the brim of my peach-colored fedora and snapped the lighter closed.

“This is the 21st century, you know, the only folks who light up nowadays are shady bums,” she said.

“Is that so?” I asked.

She pursed her lips together and glared at me with hatred that I wouldn’t think you’d be able to gather after a 10-second conversation.

“Yes, it is.” The room began to fill with smoke.

“Look, ma’am, do you have a particular reason for being here, or did you come here in the rain to be a pain in the neck?”

“Well, as I mentioned before, I‘m here to see an Arlo White.”

“Arlo White?” She had a snarky voice.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sounds like a fake name to me.” She slowly turned around to the wall of names behind her and scanned the rows passive-aggressively.

“It may be as far as I know,” I said.

“Arlo White, eighth floor.” She snarled, “You’re welcome. Suite 821.”

Without glancing back at the Madonna wannabe, I made my way to the elevator and pushed number eight.

“Some lady you are,” she half muttered to herself before painting her nails with the half-used bottle of Wite-Out on her desk.

The elevator dinged, and a girl wearing all Forever 21 clothes and false pink pastel nails stepped out, staring at her phone, out of place in comparison to the gloomy retro vibe of the building. As she walked, her Kate Spade boots clicked on the tile floor. Inside, the elevator was like any elevator, the buttons a pale yellow and the numbers up to 12. For some reason, someone thought it had been a good idea to install a stereo system.

“On 99.5, we have the hottest hits.”

“And the hottest men. Have you checked out Tyler Smith’s new album, Casey?”

“I have, and soon will the listeners with the song, ‘All I Know’ coming right up.”

Lucky for me, the elevator dinged just as the song started. Though from what I heard, it was decent. It wasn’t painful, but at the same time I wouldn’t listen to it on my own time.

My shoes squelched on the bland, red carpet, still soggy from the rain. Suite 821 was a bit down the hall, the door made from a cheap oak knockoff and the window from frosted glass with the words, “Arlo White, defense lawyer. ‘Call A. White if you want a fair fight!’” written in 50’s font next to a pair of cartoon boxing gloves. I grimaced, grabbing the knob and thinking of how sad Arlo White’s life must be, before opening the door.

Inside was an empty desk that should’ve belonged to a secretary, and a set of maybe five red-cushioned waiting chairs. No one was in the chairs, either. The whole place was as empty as a shut-in’s funeral. Wearily, I walked inside and observed the desk. On it was a white telephone, and next to it was a stack of papers with a sticky note. The sticky note read, “Out sick, Real Housewives marathon today. Will finish work Monday.” Today was Tuesday, which suggested that the Real Housewives marathon would be going on a whole week. It also suggested that Mr. White ran a loose establishment, but reading the note wasn’t necessary to prove that fact.

I pulled my off-white Polaroid out from my jacket pocket and snapped a shot. I prefer Polaroids because, like the secretary downstairs, I don’t have enough money to buy an iPhone. Plus, I got the pictures straight away and didn’t need to find a place to develop them. Maybe Mr. White and I weren’t so different after all: we both were in a tough racket and ran probably not even four-star businesses.

I checked my watch and decided I should knock on the second fake oak door, since I was supposed to have met Arlo five minutes ago. No response. The whole office must have slept in, except it couldn’t have since I had called the guy fifteen minutes ago on my way here. I pushed the door open to find a long table. On that long table was a hand clutching a pencil, a suit, as cheap as a McDonald’s breakfast combo, and atop that suit, a head. A head with a hat on it, a bowling hat. The kind they used to wear in the old mafia movies. It didn’t have the Godfather-type chicness, and yet, it didn’t seem like you’d buy one at a neighborhood garage sale. A piece laid a little bit down the table, a polished one, much nicer than anything else the sap had on him.

In the other room, there was a sound: a click. In the waiting room, the door of Suite 821 clicked open. I reached for my gat and peeked through the crack of the door. A man in a suit leaned over the secretary’s desk and sighed.

“There’s always some show on. She can never just do her goddamn job.” He talked in a New York accent and had light brown slicked back hair, a goatee, and a grey briefcase. He looked even more dead and cheaper than the sap in the office. Resting his face in his hands, he looked at the floor, and then, walked slowly up to the door. I hid behind the door frame, and he walked in, coffee in hand.

“Jesus H. Christ.” He stared ahead not in fear, not in sadness, but weariness.

He said, “Dennis, they got Dennis.” I walked out from the shadows.

“Who’s Dennis?” The man instinctively took a step back. Unfortunately, out of fear, he didn’t check where he was stepping and stumbled into Dennis’s lap, screaming and falling over, dropping his three dollar coffee, and spilling it all over his lap.

“Shit!”

“Who’re you?” I laid the piece on the table next to Dennis and helped the guy up.

“Me-me? I’m the fella who runs this fine establishment. Who’re you?” He sarcastically wiped the coffee off his pants.

“Bonnie Ventura. You Arlo White?”

“No, I’m Vito Corleone. I mean, come on, look at me, do I look like a threat?”

“The saddest looking people are the ones to look out for.”

“Gee thanks. I appreciate the compliment, but that ain’t the case with me.” He sat down, looking at the pool of blood surrounding Dennis. Then he sighed, shaking his head wearily.

“I could really use a drink about now.” He said.

“How about some coffee?” I said.

Arlo looked from Dennis to me.

“You didn’t kill ‘im, did you?”

“I’m a private detective, not a cop, killing ain’t my line of work.”

“Okay…okay.” He sighed. “But you’re paying.”

 

***

The diner was Slim’s Pancake House, and it was straight from the 50s. The lettering of the sign was that of the words on Arlo’s door, and the prices were cheaper than his outfit, a true gem.

“I like it. These types of places are rare,” Arlo said. “Nowadays, coffee is six dollars, pancakes fourteen when it tastes like a hotel breakfast. I say fuck that. I’m not paying for a five star dinner. I’m paying for scrambled eggs, no garnishes, no cheese imported from France, no long-range, all natural, low-fat milk. If I wanted that, I’d go to a vegan cafe in Brooklyn.” A waitress came to fill up our mugs.

“Thank you.” He took a long sip. “Nowadays, people are so picky. They only eat what the New York Times reviews.” I shrugged.

“All that’s true, but when it comes right down to it, some people are diner people and some just aren’t.”

“Are you a diner person?” he asked.

“I don’t see why people eat any other food.” I took out a cigarette from my coat pocket. “They don’t mind smoking in here, do they?”

“No.”

I flipped the lighter open, and Arlo watched the tobacco light.

“Could I have a light?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?” I handed him a cigarette and brought the flame to it. He leaned back against the classic, red-padded booth we both sat in.

“Now, are you ready to talk about Dennis or not?” He squinted.

“What’s your play here?”

“I don’t know what’s going on half the time, and I certainly haven’t figured enough out to make a play.” I took a sip of my coffee. It was black, but watered down, so the bitterness wasn’t nearly as bitter as it could’ve been.

“Isn’t it your job to know what’s going on half the time?” Arlo pointed his cigarette at me.

“My job is to figure out what’s going on, not to know it.”

“And how’s figuring stuff out going for you?”

“Not too great.”

“Not too great.” He leaned back in his seat and looked at me, relaxed.

“Well, my day hasn’t been going too great either. Dennis was an old…client of mine. Came to me for advice.”

“Advice on what?” He shrugged.

“Money stuff. Guy had a gambling problem, a serious one.”

“Serious ‘cause he was winning too much or losing too much?”

“I hired him when he was losing. A couple hours ago, he was winning.”

“And that’s something you pride yourself on?”

“The man’s dead. In my book, that’s nothing to be proud of.”

“I hope that in most people’s books, it’s nothing to be proud of,” I said.

“I can think of someone who may be proud of it.”

I raised my eyebrows at Arlo, and he smiled, not with smugness or happiness but with fatigue. The man didn’t have the impression of someone who prided himself with most things, or even cared about most things. I liked it. People who are too enthusiastic have too much to hide. In my theory, that’s where the enthusiasm comes from.

“Mikey Devant,” Arlo said finally.

“Mikey Devant? Sounds faker than your name.”

Arlo took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, I can assure you my name’s 100% real.” He smiled.

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“The secretary in your building didn’t seem to think so.”

“Who? Loretta?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t eat breakfast with her.”

“Did she have curly blonde hair and a lip on her?”

I nod.

“That would be Loretta.” He sighed. “Girl’s a real piece of work.”

“How so?”

“She’s got a champagne taste on a beer budget.” Without elaboration or pauses, Arlo continued. “Could be useful in your case here, though. See, when Dennis was my client, sometimes, we’d go to this casino on 14th, named Mirage – ”

“There’s a casino called Mirage?”

“Yeah, I know. Counterintuitive. Anyways, Dennis used to go there, and I’d talk to him about gambling, coach him on it.”

“So, you taught him how to cheat?”

“Nah, he taught himself how to cheat. I just tried to figure out what made it so addicting for him.”

“And what’d you find?”

“Nothing. I’d make a bad detective, but what I did find was that Loretta works there every Tuesday night, and Dennis had a thing for her.”

Uck. What kinda thing? Could she’a killed him?”

“I don’t know. My job is to figure out what’s going on, not to know it.’” He said, mocking me.

“No, my job is to figure out what’s going on. You’re a lawyer. Your job is to know what’s going on.” I paused. “So I take it that knowing stuff hasn’t been going too great for you?”

“No, it hasn’t. It hasn’t been going too great.”

I took out a flask from the inside pocket of my trench coat.

“You like rye?”

“It’s – ” He checked his knockoff Rolex. “8:57 in the morning. Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Ar, I’m a good detective, because I follow my intuition, and half of the time, what my intuition is telling me is that I could use a drink.”

“So you’re drunk on half your cases?”   

“More than half, and I wouldn’t say ‘drunk.’ ‘Drunk’ makes it sound like I don’t know where to put my feet. Drinking is what helps me solve my cases and gives me ‘moments of clarity,’ and if that bothers you, I don’t really care. All I know is that I’m too sober to solve this case, and I can see you could use a drink yourself.”

“Huh.” He studied me as I poured the rye into my 50s mug and swirled it around with a coffee spoon. Then he rubbed his eyes with his hands, exasperated. “I like rye as much as any other liquor.”

I filled his mug to the brim before tucking the flask back inside my coat. He sat and watched the liquids blend for a moment before drinking it all in one swift motion.

 

***

Since Arlo was evidently a not-so-great lawyer, and didn’t know what the word was with Loretta, we decided to pay her a visit wherever she lived, since when we left Arlo’s sad office building Loretta was not in her usual place in the lobby. We took my car, a pitch black ‘67 Chevy Impala. It used to belong to a moll who had a real thing for cars. So much so that she killed her husband in it after he tried to cut off her allowance. My sister, Ariana, worked on the case and managed to pull it out of evidence for me. Ariana was a good detective. Sure, she could be unenthusiastic, annoying, offtrack, and uncaring, but when it came down to the real tough parts of the job, she was a right on, smart girl. We would need her help.

“Ariana!” I put her on speaker phone.

“Bonnie, did you finally come to your senses and accept my offer?” She wanted me to join the force.

“You know, just as much as I’d do that, I would never stoop down to a cop’s level.”

“But you would stoop down to a con artist’s level.”

“Private investigators are not con artists.” I paused. “Except for maybe Archie.” Archie was a private detective and a con artist at that; the man had no real talent and spent his days hypnotising frantic victims of crimes who detested cops.

“Archie! Well, when you have a change of heart, you know who to call. Speaking of which, why’d you call this time?”

“You have any info on a Loretta Capman?”

“Hang on for a minute – I’ll see what I can do – ”

Arlo turns to me, “Your friend?”

“Sister.”

“Twins?”

“Two year difference.”

“Who’s older?”

“Me.”

Arlo and I went back to sitting in silence. He emptied his cigarette ashes into the Mikey atop my dashboard, as the rain tapped gently on his window. The storm was letting up now, though to be outside you’d still want an umbrella. Miserable weather. I preferred sunny days over rainy ones, but I preferred thunderstorms over sunny days.

Ariana got back on the phone.

“Well she’s not in the system, but the last charge to her credit card was at Lenny’s Lodge, a motel just outta town.”

“Address?”

“3932 Jameson.”

“Thanks, Ariana.”

“No problem.”

I hung up and started the engine. The streets were drawn weirdly throughout the city. Luckily, I knew where Jameson was because of its frequent use. If you wanted to go out north of the city, Jameson was the road to take. With that being said, whether Loretta killed Dennis or not, she was almost certainly guilty of something. Jameson was a long way from Arlo’s building, so going to a motel there meant you intended on skipping town, and skipping town after a murder meant there was some kind of connection. I turned to Arlo. I doubted it, but he might have known something about Capman that was important.

“So what was Loretta like?”

“What? As a secretary?”

I glared at him, “No. As a driver?”

Arlo sighed. “Well, I didn’t give her much thought.”

“Yeah. Makes sense, considering she didn’t know who you were.”

“She knows who I am. A while back, when Dennis and I were at Mirage, he was flirting with her, and when she asked who I was, he said a lawyer. She said something about how it was strange for a lawyer to be at a casino, and then said that if she ever needed law advice, she’d call me. About a week later, she called and asked me to dinner.”

“And you’re only mentioning this now? What did you say?”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. On a case.”

We stopped at a red light, and I shook my head, “You know, for a lawyer, you don’t seem to pay much attention to detail.”

“And for a detective you don’t seem very sober.”

“Being sober doesn’t factor into the job requirements.”

 

***

By the time we pulled up at 3932 Jameson Street, the rain had nearly stopped and it continued only as a misty drizzle. 3932 was on the outskirts of town, and pine trees nearly surrounded it. A rehabbed, one-story cabin had been transformed into a “luxury get away,” or at least, that’s what the sign read. The structure would’ve made a good log cabin if it was in a different place, at a different time, with a little fixing up. In front of the lodge was an American flag atop a relatively tall pole, the flag tattered and dirty. The whole building, flag and all, looked like it could’ve been a filming location for Twin Peaks.

The two of us walked inside.

“Jesus.” Arlo gazed at the walls.

He said “Jesus” in reference to the animal heads mounted on the walls. It’s the first thing anyone would notice when they walked in. There were so many that it looked like a taxidermist’s. Deer, elk, moose, fox, bears. A real nice place to stay if you liked dead animals watching everything did. It didn’t bother me per se; what bothered me was when hotels hung up motivational travel quotes to seem unique, when you could buy them at Macy’s, Kohl’s, or any retailer near you. Aside from the animal heads, what was noticeable was the smell of gasoline.

I approached the front desk. A man was sitting, reading the newspaper. He wore thin wired glasses, and looked like he was in his late 60s with a long white mustache, and a cowboy hat that made him look like a sheriff from a western.

“Excuse me, sir?” He sat next to an ornate golden bell, like Hector Salamanca. The man slowly raised his head.

“Yes ‘m.”

“Do you have a guest here by the name of Loretta Capman?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I don’t ask the fellas their names. I just give them their room keys.”

I took out a badge. “Well, could you check? It’s important.”

“I suppose so.” The man kept no computer, and instead had a big book with tourists’ names. His frail fingers flipped through the pages slowly until he stopped to squint at one page.

“Room 104.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We walked through the hallway to the end. As we walked, the smell of gasoline grew stronger.

“Jesus Christ. What’d the gal do? Light herself on fire?”

“I certainly hope not. That would destroy our one lead.” When we reached the door, I took out my gun. “Po-lice, open up!”

“I thought you said you weren’t a cop?” Arlo whispered, staring at the badge I still clutched in the palm of my hand.

“I’m not. I bought this on Amazon for 76 cents.” It read B. VENTURA. “It was name customizable.”

The loud sound of an engine growled from outside of the building, and I charged into the room, the doors unlocked. We ran to the open window. A rickety old 60s Cadillac leisurely passed the window. The car’s paint had chipped away. It was faded red with one of the doors being another color entirely, which you could only classify as a mix of blue and grey creating an unusual pastel metallic color. If the vehicle could be described as a person, it would be the weird quirky kid that no one wanted to play with at recess in elementary school. But it was not the vehicle that was important. It was the driver.

In the front seat sat Loretta Capman; in her mouth sits a lit cigarette; next to her, a duffel bag full of cash.

She batted her long eyelash extensions at Arlo and said, “Aw, look who’s playing games with the detective, sore loser honey. You’re missing out, 50 thousand in cash and you turned it down,” before speeding away in her convertible.

 

***

I sat in my office across from Arlo. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and then looked around. I had a small office, smaller than and slightly nicer than his too. It had a respectable vibe. Furnishing the room were several plants, like ferns and cacti, but the room was overall minimalistic: how I liked things. The carpet was white, the walls were white, and the desk was oak along with the chairs. On the desk was a gold plaque with my name, “B. VENTURA, Private Investigator.” It looked fancy, but you could buy it online for twelve dollars, similar to most of the knickknacks in the room. The most expensive thing was the liquor that I kept it in a cabinet behind me at all times. I checked my watch and poured the man facing me a drink of scotch.

“It’s not even 10:00 yet, Ar, this may be the quickest case I’ve ever solved.”

“You sound like a cop.”

“Fuck you. Now talk.”

“Why? Am I under arrest?”

“No, but you will be if you don’t cut the crap.”

He sighed, looked me dead in the eyes, and then threw the whole drink down.

“Fine. I lied when I worked with Dennis. I didn’t try to figure out what made gambling addicting; I helped him gamble. We’d go every Tuesday night, which happened to be the same night Loretta worked. The manager, Mikey and Loretta figured out we were cheating pretty quickly and had a talk with us. Dennis was dead set on the idea. He was the real mastermind; I just helped him a bit. So you know how I said she asked me out to dinner? Well, she did. She asked me to kill Dennis.”

“I knew she wouldn’t date you.”

“Don’t gloat over it. Anyways, she said Mikey, the manager, would give me 20 of the 50k Dennis and I stole if I could take it from him.”

“And you didn’t take it?”

“Of course I didn’t take it. Taking it from Dennis meant killing him, and I may cheat at gambling, but who doesn’t? I needed money. Being a lawyer doesn’t exactly buy a Rolex.”

“But it does buy a fake one.”

“That it does. But just because I’d prefer a Rolex and a fridge that works, that doesn’t mean I’d kill a man, especially a man I know; I couldn’t live with myself.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“Right now, I’m thinking I could use another glass.” I poured him one. The light from the glass reflects onto the ceiling painting’s different hues of brown and orange.

“Loretta. I’m guessing Mikey promised her 20 of the 50k Dennis stole. She flirts with him, then they go home, but he catches her stealing the money. She shoots him.”

“Leaves it in your office as a warning.”

“Exactly.” I lit a cigarette.

“Lotta work to send one message.” Then I paused. “You ever think of quitting the law business?”

“To do what?”

“Investigate.”

“I lied to you; I cheated at gambling. Why would you want me to work for you?”

I shook my head and exhaled the smoke, blowing it into the air and leaning back in my chair.

“It’s the people who admit they lied that you can trust, not the ones who claim to never have.” I paused a moment to let it sink in.

“So you’re not going to arrest me?”

“We don’t need another person locked up for years for a minor crime.”

“Is that why you hate cops?”

“Is what why I hate cops?”

“You talk about how all cops do is kill people. You hate them because you hate the justice system? And if you hate the justice system, my question is why are you working in bringing people to justice?”

I sighed and lifted my chin up slowly to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t hate cops or the justice system, and I do what I do because I’m good at it. I dislike both because of the power we give them and how strict our prison policies are.”

“In China, you can be put away just for talking about certain things.”

“Well, this isn’t China, and we’re not communists.”

“It’s more of a dictatorship,” he said under his breath.

“You like politics so much? Be a politician.”

“I thought you wanted me to be a detective.”

“I do.” He studied the ceiling before glancing around.

“Not a lot of room in here for another desk?”

“Then make room.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, lighting a cigarette.

“I’ll work with you part-time, but I’m still a lawyer.”

“You get 10% of all profits.”

“10%? What am I? A slave? No. 50.”

“30.”

“30.”

“10.”

“15.”

“20.”

“Fine.”

We shook on it.

 

Bewitched

Maya energetically scrubbed down the counter of Witchcraft Bakery, limbs sore from a long, tedious day of work.

Only six more months working at this hell-hole, then I’ll have enough money… And people won’t suspect what I am as much一I mean, who names a shop Witchcraft Bakery when witches are treated the way they are?

Maya would know, she was one herself. Her fingertips itched to cast a spell that would make the counter shine in a matter of seconds, but she knew it was too risky.

With that in mind, Maya continued her task, spraying a few more drops of bleach on the unclean, metal surface. There were still a few more hours before closing time, but Maya’s eyelids felt as heavy as lead.

She swiped a hand across her sweaty forehead, trying to ignore the ache in her arms. All of her coworkers were either on break or simply ditching, so Maya was alone in the shop. It was up to her to clean, serve customers, and man the cash register. Fortunately, there were no customers in line at the moment, so she had taken this moment of respite to tidy the area.

The bells over the front door chimed, signaling someone had opened it and entered the bakery. Maya glanced up from the counter, her eyes meeting those of the stranger who stood in the doorway.

He was tall, dark-haired, probably around sixteen, with fair skin. His cheekbones were high, and his nose was angular, perfect for looking down at people.  Beneath dark, bushy eyebrows were cold, brown eyes, which penetrated Maya to the core. She shivered, face blazing.

She searched the boy’s face for any trace of revulsion at the sight of her, but his face remained impassive, thin lips drawn in a straight line.

Well, he sure was good at hiding his emotions, Maya bitterly thought. Her reflection shone in the bright metal of the counter. Her long, black hair, her tan skin, green eyes. Her freckled nose, and her red lips. But, her features were often ignored, obscured by the scars, sores, and red, angry burns on the right side of her face.

Maya tensed as the beautiful boy walked toward her. She subconsciously brushed her hair in front of the scars and bowed her head.

“Welcome to Witchcraft Bakery,” she began neutrally as he reached the counter. “What can I get you today?”

“A chocolate chip cookie and… A date with you,” was the answer.

Maya’s head snapped up in astonishment, meeting the boy’s eyes. Something told her he was used to getting what he wanted.

“I-I’m sorry?” she stuttered, sure she had heard incorrectly.

Her cheeks heated up even more than they already had.

“You heard me,” smirked the boy, raising an eyebrow. “A date with you.”

“A…What?” gaped Maya.

The boy laughed softly.

“You know what? We can forget about the cookie. How does the date sound?”

Maya hesitated, examining him from head to toe. When she said yes, it was for all the wrong reasons.

* * *

As Maya scavenged through her nearly empty pantry for food, the events at the bakery, a few hours ago, really began to hit her.

She had been asked out on a date.

Her first date.

And it had been by a complete stranger. And she had said yes.

Maya still remembered the boy’s satisfied smile as she agreed. She knew his type. He was the kind of boy who always got girls on the first try, and then dumped them after the first date. She had seen him scan the place, lips curling in an expression of disdain for a second, before turning neutral again.

“Then, it’s a deal,” he had said.

He had dropped a business card on the counter. As he passed the cash register, he had dropped a twenty-dollar bill in the tip jar, winking at Maya one last time, before exiting the bakery.

Maya stopped her search for dinner to go to her purse, taking out a crisp twenty, and a now-rumpled business card. She unfolded the card, rereading its content, and debated whether to laugh or cry at it.

Call me, it said. Underneath it was a number, and the name Gregory Oktresson.

And twenty dollars could probably keep Maya going for three days, but he had dropped that amount in a tip jar as if it were nothing. In fact, that was the main reason Maya had agreed to the date with Gregory in the first place. Yes, his charming smile (and adorable dimple) had played no part in convincing her.

Well, almost no part. But, that was beside the point.

You see, going on the date with Gregory could very well bring Maya’s plan to an early end. He was rich. Maya, or just about anyone for that matter, could tell. Perhaps it was because of his silky, beige coat, and the way he was always flicking invisible specks of dust off it. Or, maybe it was because of the way his black dress shoes were so shiny, you could have seen your reflection in them. Of course, it could simply have been the way he stood tall and straight, and looked at everyone condescendingly with his hooded eyes. The way he had just seemed out of place in the small, mundane bakery. He was like a jewel in a pile of cheap, plastic beads.

Maya was going to get close to him. She would make him fall in love with her, she decided. She would be the very first girl he brought on a second date.

And when their relationship was serious enough, Gregory would begin to give her money. And Maya would begin to ask for more, subtly, of course, until he eventually gave her enough to hire a private detective. Then she would dump him, and he would never see her again.

In this way, Maya would finally find out who had killed her parents.

With that, she continued preparing her dinner.

* * *

Maya swore. She was certain she still had a loaf of bread in one of the cabinets, but apparently, she was wrong. All Maya had left now were three apples and half a bag of Fritos. She quickly devoured one of the fruits and a handful of the chips.

Her stomach grumbled in protest at the incomplete meal, but Maya ignored it. She was used to it anyway. When she was fourteen, Maya had escaped her foster home and come to the city. She had saved up enough money to make all of the fake papers and IDs she needed to survive alone as a minor. Maya had rented the apartment she was currently staying in from a family who owned it. They hadn’t glanced twice at her false papers, and had barely asked any questions. Since Maya could cover the rent with her paychecks from Witchcraft Bakery, the current setup worked for the family as well. She knew this couldn’t last forever, but she tried not to think about it, pushing the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her head.

For now, all Maya could do was live by her motto, never let your guard down. If she trusted the wrong people and was found out, they would do things to her…

Like they had done to her mom and dad.

***

It was a normal December evening, and the little girl and her parents were eating dinner in the kitchen. The atmosphere shifted in a matter of seconds. One moment, the three of them were chatting and laughing around the table; the next, the little girl’s mother was grabbing her arm and turning deathly pale.

“Maya,” she whispered urgently, “There are some bad people coming to the house. I need you to pretend you’re playing hide and seek with us, only this time, it’ll be a little different, okay? You can only come out when you don’t hear anything anymore.”

The little girl wordlessly stared up at her parents with wide eyes, sensing something was wrong, but unable to understand what it was. Her father squatted down in front of her, and for the first time, the little girl saw fear in his eyes.

“Honey, you have to do what Mom told you. These people coming are bad guys. If they find you, they will do bad things to you; they hurt people like us. You need to hide, okay? Do you understand, Maya?”

The girl nodded.

“But, will Mommy hide with me?” she whispered. “Will you, Daddy?”

Her father was silent. The little girl looked up toward her mother. She was looking out the window, hands clenched around the windowsill and muttering words under her breath. The air seemed to be shimmering around her mouth. She looked toward her daughter, eyes filling up with tears, but never stopping her chant.

The little girl tottered toward the window in uncertain, meandering steps. She saw the bad people. There must have been around seven. They were all dressed in black, facial features completely concealed. The two leaders of the group carried maroon staffs topped with strange, silver symbols, in their hands. They were trudging up the path to their house.

“Maya!” half-whispered her father, “Come with me, now!”

He forcefully grabbed her arm and led her to the living room.

“Daddy?” asked the little girl, tears spilling over her eyes. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing, Maya, nothing,” he replied.

He pushed away the rug covering the floor of the living room, revealing a small trap door the little girl had never known was there. It was not very deep, but relatively wide.

“You need to stay in here until it’s silent outside,” ordered her father, hiding his desperation behind a calm facade. “Remember, Mommy and I both love you very, very much.”

The little girl felt her father’s lips on her forehead one last time, before he wrapped her up in his arms and lowered her into the little alcove. She met her father’s eyes one last time before he slid the trapdoor closed over her, engulfing the girl in darkness.

It was almost pitch black in the shelter. The little girl was scared, but she knew she couldn’t cry. She had to be quiet, or the bad guys would find her. She curled up into a ball, shivering with cold, and fighting against the tears. Where were Mommy and Daddy? When were they coming back?

The shelter was almost completely soundproof. The little girl could feel the vibrations of heavy footsteps thundering over where she was hidden. She shrunk into the shadows even more. If she strained her ear, muffled shouts and crashes could be heard.

The relative silence in the shelter was broken by two screams. Two inhuman shrieks of agony. They pierced the air, resonating through the entire house, their echoes following them long after they had died down.

The little girl wrapped her head in her arms, rocking her body back and forth, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, everything was silent. The little girl was thirsty, hungry, and sore. She could see a small crack in the trap door, so she reached for it, and pushed it open, some light filtering through, despite the carpet that still covered the entrance.

It was strange, she thought as she hoisted herself out, how hot it was all of a sudden. Then the little girl saw why. The living room was slowly being devoured by little flickers of orange light. She knew what they were—Mommy and Daddy had told her. They were flames. Fire.

At the thought of her parents, the little girl’s eyes anxiously darted across the space, ears straining to catch sounds around the house, other than the crackling of the fire, but to no avail. Her tiny hands balled into fists as sweat trickled down her forehead and tears dripped from her eyes.

“Mommy! Daddy!” She cried, sobs shaking her tiny frame. “Where are you?”

The little girl tottered to the entrance of the kitchen, precariously avoiding flames that still licked the floor and blackened, fallen furniture scattered around the space. As the girl pushed open the kitchen door, a horrid smell assaulted her nostrils and she recoiled. There was still a fire burning in the kitchen as well. It was burning something, but it wasn’t furniture. A horrid feeling in the little girl’s gut told her what, or who, it was.

“Mommy! Daddy!” She yelled, the smoke burning her throat and eyes.

She stumbled toward the charred, unrecognizable masses that lay on the ground. The little girl didn’t realize that she was growing dangerously close to the fire, until it was too late. Her cheek grazed the flames, and that was all it took to send excruciating pain through every fiber of her being. She fell backward, clawing at her face, tortured howls escaping her mouth.

And then, she saw it. Half-melted, lying on the floor, feet away from her. Made of silver, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She knew it belonged to the bad guys. Somewhere from within her pain-induced delirium, the girl’s fingers curled around the little crest as she committed the image of it to her memory forever.

The flame inside the seven-pointed star. Then everything went black.

 

A tear slid down Maya’s scarred, rough cheek as her hand closed over that same crest, and the cold metal dug into her palm.

* * *

Maya took a deep breath as the two uniform-clad men, standing at the mansion’s entrance, pulled open the shining double doors, bowing as she daintily stepped over the threshold. She carefully arranged her mane of hair so that it fell over the scarred side of her face. Hiding her trembling hands within the folds of her midnight blue gown, she attempted to calm her beating heart.

The gown, as well as her heels and matching clutch, had been gifts from Gregory. Maya remembered her phone call with him from a few days earlier. It had been short and sweet, with Gregory simply asking her dress size and then her address. Maya had answered him mechanically, any common sense she may have had before had flown out the window at the sound of his husky voice. All she knew was that the package containing her outfit had arrived in the morning, and a man driving a shiny limousine had stopped in front of her building, at a quarter past eight, precisely to drive her here.

Maya’s heels clicked on the wood floor as she joined a throng of glittering guests chatting underneath a magnificent crystal chandelier, that hung from the high ceiling and illuminated their faces with its warm, golden light. Her eyes darted around the large room, and her stomach sank as she realized that most of the guests were adults. Maya’s sweaty hands feverishly gripped the clutch as she walked around the room, inconspicuously trying to locate Gregory. Her gaze finally landed on him, and she hurried towards the corner he was standing in.

As if sensing her presence behind him, Gregory slowly turned around and offered Maya one of his signature smirks as she stopped by his side. Despite the warm air, a shiver snaked down Maya’s bare back as he appraised her from head to toe.

“I have to say, you do clean up well,” he stated, finally meeting her eyes.

“I-I wish I could say the same about you,” Maya managed to blurt, trying to maintain her stony facade despite her mind screaming quite the opposite—Gregory looked absolutely dashing in his black suit.

Remember why you’re doing this, she schooled herself. But Gregory frowned slightly and hurt flashed across his face at Maya’s sharp words. Her gut twisted inside her, and she nervously bit her lip. Had she gone too far? Would everything she had worked so hard for come crashing down because of a single rude comment? If something went wrong, Maya would never forgive herself. Neither would her parents.

A husky laugh with an undercurrent of disdain broke through her thoughts. Gregory stared down at her with mirth in his eyes.

“Gotcha,” he grinned, and Maya’s guilt was quickly replaced with anger, which only fueled her determination to bring her plan to a successful end. Now, not only would she use Gregory to avenge her parents, she would take pleasure in doing it.

The words Maya grumbled to Gregory next made a rather portly woman, standing near them, throw the pair a scandalized glance, before waddling away.

“You wound me, Maya!” replied the boy, sarcastically bringing a hand to his heart. His bicep flexed under the fabric of his suit, and Maya grudgingly decided that maybe the heat blossoming on her cheeks wasn’t completely due to the warm lights overhead. She was about to jab him with another sharp reply, when she saw Gregory stiffen slightly, and the expression slowly faded from his face as he looked at something behind her. Maya turned, and realized that a couple was advancing toward them, a man in a dark suit and a woman in a maroon cocktail dress, who looked so much like Gregory; they could only be his parents. Maya’s face grew hot as she looked inquisitively at him. Gregory threw her a quick glance before turning back to the couple and gesturing towards Maya, who suddenly became very focused on a patch of carpeting at her feet. Her heartbeat seemed to have tripled its pace.

“Mother, Father, this is Maya,” he quickly introduced her. “And, Maya, these are my parents.”

Maya peeked up at them from beneath her eyelashes, muttering an incoherent greeting.

If the couple had any thoughts on Maya’s disfiguration, they hid them well, faces remaining studiously unreadable as Gregory’s mother held out a hand for her to shake first. Maya nervously gripped it and let go almost immediately, a shiver snaking down her back. Something was wrong; a cloud of something dark and ominous surrounded these people, she was sure of it. And as Gregory’s mother retracted her hand, Maya saw it glittering on her finger.

Silver. A ring.

The flame inside the seven-pointed star.

 

The Strange Realities from My Soulmate

 

Everything has a balance,

A limit.

A rule to abide, or an exception to demonstrate

A carbon atom must only have a specific number of protons

A strand of DNA writes novels of identity out of our control

A swipe of scarlet nail lacquer applied without a proper top coat will flake away in a matter of days

But lying in the soft folds of your bed, hearing soothing fantasies

Of magic and souls, of love and physics

Of time and nebulae

You gain an inkling of

The necessary ingredients for breaking the rules

Why those in conjunction with their other halves always seem to have more power

Why you see so many lost pairs of eyes with holes in the sides of their sneakers from wandering too long on the battered playground

Why an unlikely isotope is the definition of true love

And the government prioritizes maintaining an even population

Does this explain why your eight-year-old body hums with undeniable emptiness?

 

Is there someone out there waiting to turn the universe on its side for you?

Island: Horror

I wake up. The island is empty, and yet a low rumbling begins.  It startles me, waking me up from my deep sleep. Everyone else is gone, vanished into the winds. Chills run down my spine, and I tense, my instincts warning me that something is not right on this island.

I ignore my gut feeling. Logic, not emotion, is what will get me out of this nightmare. This horrible nightmare that left me here, alone, stranded. I have to stand up, go for help. I need to get off this horrible island.

This horrible island. I had read and watched so many movies and books about this type of situation. I will not end up like Chris McCandless, so seduced by the wild that he forgot common sense. I will not end up like the Andes crash survivors, who fed off human flesh and forgot their morals. I will not, cannot, end up like those pitiful human beings. I have to live.

I get up shakily, my legs weak. My mind flashes back to yesterday, was it just yesterday? It was just yesterday. I was with Nicole. Just yesterday I was going to see my child. I was going to live again, to be who I needed to be.

I banish those thoughts. I will get back to civilization. I have to. Not only for myself, but for the rest of the world as well. I’m going to be able to help people with my work. I’m going to be a star. I have to get back.

I look around me, my hands clenched into fists, my breathing unsteady. I’m mad that I’m here, outraged at the island, at fate that I’m here. I should not have been here, not when the world was going to be my oyster. I scream, a scream full of anger and outrage.

I scream for a bit, letting my frustration pour out of me till nothing’s left. I take a breath once I am done with my temper tantrum, and I scan my surroundings.

The beach we landed on is just one sliver of the island. A lush forest, only so far inland, awaits me, tempting me to go in. I take a deep breath. I could wait for the others to come back… or I could go into the wild.

I shouldn’t wait for the others. For all I could know, they’re in the forest. But what if they’re here? What if Nicole is there?

I should not wait. I have to get back as soon as possible.

I take my first step towards the forest. The sand is red, I notice dimly. As concerned as I was with making it to the forest, was it that color when I arrived? I take another step, and another. Then my foot hits flesh.

I scream, my fists clench, my mouth drops open. I step back and see the body I had stepped on.

It is Nicole. Her body is covered in blood, the insides ripped out, her heart next to her, half eaten. The look on her pretty, pale, face is one of horror.

I scream again. As I look up, other bodies line the beach. I did not notice them as I was warped in my thoughts, but now… now I can smell the stink of rotting flesh, hear the buzzing of flies.

How had I not noticed? This was something that I should have seen, should have been aware of. I look around slowly, really looking at the island. Who are all the rest of the bodies? I gasp as the answer comes to me.

Everyone who had been on the lifeboat is dead, all of them looking like Nicole, their bodies mangled, their hearts chewed up and spitted out. My stomach churns at the sight. I want to throw up.

What could have done this to them? I wipe my mouth, trying to cover my scream. Whoever had killed them would surely come back to kill me as well. My hand comes away with blood that is not my own.  

I stare at it, not comprehending, at the blood, and the black fur that is growing on my hands. An epiphany makes my eyes go wide.

My scream echoes throughout the island.

 

Channel Flipping

The first thing I register in the morning is my head. It’s pounding like the bass line of an AC/DC song. My throat is parched. The next thing I realize is that I’m not alone. My arm is wrapped around a female, her hair spreading over the pillow case. I jolt, my eyes flying open, my head banging the metal railing. Ouch.

The girl’s eyes don’t open, but she turns, seeking body heat. She nestles into me, and I curse the world.  She isn’t any girl. She’s my arch enemy, the one drives me insane, basically, the bane of my existence. Why is she here?

***

Dull.

***

The girl is crying. Tears are slipping down her cheeks, her eyes are red. She falls to the ground, her knees hitting the dirt with a thump. Her hands are covering her eyes. She is a pretty, young thing, but she looks awful, like she is half-mad. She screams, her keening sharp with pain.

A black casket is being buried, its mahogany lid closed and sealed. Dirt is being thrown onto it. The sky is grey and stormy, and it looks like it’s going to rain.

***

Roll Eyes.

***

“You want me to what?!” Maria yells at the Speter.

“Yeppers.”

“You. Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

Maria starts, then stops to take off her armor.

“Do I have to?”

***

So. Last. Year.

***

“That Bunny wants to kill us?” she whispers, but her voice cracks at the end, going higher.

The bunny flicks its ears at the sound.

“Keep your voice down!” he whispers angry. “The Rabbit of Dall has amazing hearing!”

“Really?” She rolls her eyes as she says this, but her voice is noticeably quieter.

“Yes, really.” The third person speaks up.

Her eyes flash under the black hood she wears.

“And are we going to kill the thing or what?!” The hooded figure stands up, her cape whirling around her, the sword that she wore at her side raised…

***

Boring.

***

The woman is lying on the couch, her blond hair lying on the arm of the couch as she flips channels. Everything is old, everything she has seen before. She’s watched every action movie, seen every tragedy, heard every variation of boy meets girl. She’s so tired. This was supposed to be her escape, but it’s too much like work. No, it is work. She’s been doing this for ages. She sighs, the noise echoing in the still living room.

Viktora comes in from the second room, her limp audible. Viktora throws the soft drink at her, which she catches without looking.

“So, your reflexes have come back?”

“Yeah.”

“My limp is still…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t leave. ”

“I know, I know.”

***

O-kay.

***

The Television is a work of art in the technological world. It is a masterpiece of looking into worlds without disturbing them, a keyhole into what-could-have-been.

It’s perfect, except in one respect.

Whoever watches it would see only what their world could have been.

And sometimes, see their own.

 

Ants

The queen died last night. The colony is in a fervor. They look lost. Each wanders the tunnels they made, like aliens. The dirt and glass, that used to wrap them in warmth and keep them safe, now feel like a maze with no end or prize for solving. They don’t eat or sleep. Ants are strong creatures, but without direction, it doesn’t matter that they can carry twenty times their own weight. Once there’s no one left to protect, it doesn’t matter that they can fight to the death to protect their colony.

He could wait for the last eggs to hatch, but thinks he’d rather not trust his luck. He’ll have to find another queen outside later.

He sighs and sits back from the desk where his ant farm rests. Even from back here, he can see their movement, like rocks tumbling through kaleidoscopes, jumbled and directionless. He drops in some food, but knows it won’t make a difference.

The desk is empty of anything important besides his ants. He used to do homework here. Schoolwork stays on his bed now; clutter has seeped into the rest of his room like mold. The sparse sunlight, coming through his window, does little to drive it out.

After one last check on the ants, he grabs his backpack and heads out to walk the three blocks to school. It’s bright out, the kind of bright where you can’t see anything, but it doesn’t feel like seeing matters much when no one can. The dry, dusty air doesn’t help. He heads to his first class, biology, and sits in his usual seat in the back, two seats behind that girl: the mayor’s kid, who always writes down the answers, but doesn’t raise her hand and always seems to get her hair caught on the nails on the back of her chair.

He saw the mayor last fall, when she gave her annual speech at graduation. Though she probably doesn’t have much better to do, he muses, taking care of a town like this, with as many stop lights as they have water fountains. It’s three, not that he’s counting. Seems like she couldn’t take care of her family too well either, with all that he’s heard about her. He thinks the girl is lonely. At least, he hasn’t seen her talk to anyone, and she walks through the hallways as if, despite her years here, she’s never seen them before.

He lets out a breath and takes out his books. Maybe he was too loud; she turns around. She’s never done that before.

“Will you quit staring at me?”

He stops for a second. “What?”

She’s already turned back, and maybe she heard, but she might not have; class is starting. It’s another lesson on macromolecules.

He taps his fingers one by one on the top of the desk, almost feeling the vibrations. He imagines all the bugs, the bacteria and parasites, and all the little creatures that live beneath his feet. He feels like he’s in a million pieces, a million tiny things swimming around in space that, when looked at from far away enough, happen to resemble one being. For some reason, the more he tries to understand, the worse it gets. So he looks at the grayed whiteboard, streaked with faint lines of different colors from where lines have been drawn and erased, drawn and erased. The ceiling is falling in, the drooping panels pretending that instead of metal bars, they’re hanging by a thread. The lab desks are painted black, but those are chipping too.

From back here, the kids are just hair, a motley of dull brown and black. Not a large enough group for a single redhead. He thought middle school would be bigger than this, with looming lecture halls steep enough to slide down, so they can fit all the kids. There are twenty-three kids here, and he knows each of their names and their parents. It’s easy to look down on them, knowing they’ll be stuck here forever, first at the college, then as workers in the electrical plant or the grocery store, and he will have escaped.

He blinks back to the lesson and tries to remember that even in a place like this, there’s something alive. It’s just too small to see.

When class is over, the girl walks out, not quite rushing, so he takes that as a good sign and jogs to catch up.

“Hey, wait.”

It almost looks like she’s walking faster, but it’s hard to tell. Someone bumps into him and while he’s distracted, she slips away.

He walks home on the same route he’s been walking most of his life. He thought he would be out of here, going to the elite boarding school two towns over. But when the money fell through, he found there weren’t too many scholarships available for ant enthusiasts. He supposes the town owes it to him, owes him good education, or at least a chance. The college is the only thing keeping this place on its feet, but it doesn’t seem that different from the rest of the town.

A car drives by, kicking up dust and dirt. He starts to cough. It’s the first car he’s seen today, but the dust doesn’t make his eyes water like it used to.

He stops by his house to grab some supplies and heads down to the only park in town, which is less of a park and more of a field. Grass and trees don’t live long in the desert. As the sand and dirt and dust came in, so did the ants. Now there’s hardly a place you can walk without stepping on one.

He crouches down by a tree near the entrance. Here, ants have nestled their homes, between the thick roots that bend through the dirt like tentacles. In order for the queen to be ready for a new colony, it must be hatched and mated, but not yet bonded with her colony. There are several colonies here, so at least one should have an extra queen. He keeps track of the ants here passively, just in case something should go wrong. He takes out his container. Lays down a trap.

The queen is coming for it. He just has to wait.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something.

The girl is standing there. Looking down at him. And there he is, playing in the dirt.

“Boo.” She doesn’t sound like she’s trying too hard to scare him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, uh, nothing.”  

“Just hanging out?” She sounds incredulous, but almost smiles, as if this is a perfectly plausible excuse.

He tries to swallow and sighs instead. “I need an ant queen. For my ant farm?”

“Oh, right, your ant farm. You know, I forgot about the ant thing, from the science fair in third grade? Nice to know some things never change.”

He shrugs, not able to do much else. “Why are you here, then?”

“I just had to get out for a bit.” He can’t tell if she means her house or all of this, but it makes sense.

Her hands jammed in her pockets, her eyes shift across the landscape. “See you later, ant guy. If I can’t avoid it.”

He turns back to find his ant prize all wrapped up for him, but he leaves confused.

Introducing a new ant queen to a colony takes meticulous time. A single worker must be removed, refrigerated to make it less aggressive, and then placed next to the queen. She has to prove her dominance on the worker, and the worker must get used to the queen’s scent. Then, another worker is refrigerated and added, then another, over the course of days or even weeks. The queen has to win them over one by one, though the first is always the hardest.  

People always used to tell him that when he got older and got a job, he would get caught in the grind of life, waking up early every morning and completing whatever slack-jawed job he was assigned until he went to bed. Maybe it will happen one day, but for now, his life isn’t like that. Not just because his schoolwork doesn’t occupy all his time, but because the time he wasn’t working, he spent on something he’s actually enjoying: his ant farm. People could talk, but it didn’t bother him when he knew he had at least made meaning in a life where everything seemed to be working against just that.

When he introduces the first worker, it keeps its distance. Maybe he didn’t wait long enough. It still seems stuck on its old queen. It’s aggressive towards the new one.

Ants fighting those from other colonies often battle to the death, and he doesn’t know how far this one will go. He leaves them alone and hopes for the best.

The problem with people is that they can’t be kept isolated or refrigerated to make them docile.

In his next biology class, she’s missing. Absent, unexcused. First time this year.

On his desk is a pencil-sketched picture of an ant.

***

A week later, more worker ants have been added to the mix. There’s fighting still, with the queen and each other. He should have waited longer, but now, he just follows the process, adding one ant a day.

She still hasn’t shown up to class. He thinks about looking for her and tries going to that spot in the park again, but finds nothing.  

He starts to worry about her. Something had to have happened. People don’t just disappear, especially in a town where it’s hard enough to leave by normal methods.

There’s a species of ants in the Amazon that build elaborate traps out of plant fiber. They fill it with holes, and each wait beneath one, and when an insect comes on top, every ant reaches through the hole and grabs the insect with their jaws. They’re predators, sometimes even to other ants.

The ground has been feeling pretty thin to him lately.

***

It takes a month for him to incorporate the rest of the worker ants with the queen. From their eyes, it must be a massive crowd. It would be hard to find a spot where your antennas weren’t bumping into anyone. Some of them climb over each other, and though there isn’t much fighting, there’s tension in the container. A queen is a queen, and while they know they need her, they don’t bow to her. He starts to incorporate them back into the ant farm, though this is a first for the new queen. It seems to reinvigorate her; in her own domain, with her special chambers, she begins to take control.

He starts to anticipate biology class; now there’s a black hole in the room bigger than the lab desk and two spots farther away. He feels like the jellyfish used for DNA splicing — some strange thought is now part of him, and there’s no way to get it out. He wonders if anyone else notices her absence. Are they looking for her? Are the police looking for her? What if she was murdered, or kidnapped?

When his curiosity gets the better of him, he asks the teacher, who shrugs, then the kids who sit next to her chair, who do the same. It’s not that no one noticed, but no one seems personally invested enough to try and do anything. He isn’t either, but the more he learns of others’ negligence, the more he wants himself to care.

So after another week, when his ants have settled and he has nothing he can distract himself with, he heads down to the mayor’s house.

It’s taller than the other houses on the block, but not imposing. It has a porch, tall windows, gray walls. The driveway holds a single car, pointing outwards.

He’s seen the mayor before, up on stage and in pictures in the town hall. He’d been in there a couple times, for his fifth grade piano recital before he quit, and then for graduation. He often wonders if she knows him, if she remembers the names of most of the citizens, or if she just directs from afar. Ant queens use chemical signals to direct different workers, and he wonders how much of her job is behind the scenes.

He looks at the doorbell, the creaky steps, and covered windows. The chipping, cesious paint on the doorframe reminds him of the biology desks. The door, however, looks freshly painted, so he can tell someone is trying to keep up appearances. The windows are dusty, so he imagines if they spend time looking out across the town, it would be on this porch, on the couch, and scattered chairs. There’s a deck of cards on the table in the middle, and he wonders if they spend a lot of time out here.

He decides to go in the back way instead.

There’s a shed with the door open, so filled as to make the place unusable, yet still somewhat organized. Bikes are in their slots on the back wall, posters for a Girl Scout cookie booth on the walls, tennis rackets in a pile next to the balls, and portable net. There’s a life here, a childhood. Nothing too recent, though.

He heads in the back door. He’s been here twice before, once for her birthday party, once for an invitation to “hang out.” He thought they had fun, but she didn’t really talk to him or invite him over after that.

He wonders if the mayor is home. He hasn’t seen her lately, but she must be around, attending to the town or something. He wonders if she’s been looking for her daughter, if she knows where she went.

It’s a little familiar, and he figures out where to turn to go up one flight of stairs, and then another. He glances into the rooms he passes: a bright kitchen, a formal living room, rows of bedrooms ready for use. There are lots of signs and crochet pillows with sayings like No Place Like Home and Love This Place.

When each of the rooms turn up empty, he heads up to the attic.

It’s strange to think of the deadness he’s seen in this place for so long as contentment. Do people really choose to live here? The mayor must. But looking around, her attic is empty, except for dust bunnies and a few boxes on the sides and in the corner. There are ants living in almost any climate, even the tundra, but he doubts his ants would like it up here, in the dry heat and stale air. He supposes for once, he’s grateful he’s not an ant.

There’s a small, square window in the center. He pushes aside the curtain and stops to look out.

It’s getting late, and he can see the sun passing over the horizon. A first star looks down. When he thinks about solar systems, it’s easy to imagine ours as an atom, one cog in a massive machine beyond human comprehension. It’s nice, for once, to imagine himself as part of something greater.

From here, he can see everything: the paths of the school, the buildings and streets, the hospital he was born in, the ice cream place he used to walk to from his house. The lined passageways don’t make a matrix, they make sense: a thousand weaving roads each leading to another, all centered around this house. There are dozens of people out, some driving on the roads, others walking through the park or standing in their lawns. Only ants have to follow the passageways they build.

Looking out, he can’t think of where she would have gone. He used to think he was stuck here, but now it seems like the only thing keeping him here was himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees her car, a black dot, speeding away like she’s being chased.

 

A Sky Full of Mediocrity

Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea. — Douglas Adams; The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

***

They had originally started out as simple, single-celled protozoa, just like everybody else. All was well for a short while until, one day, one of the protozoa thought it would be pretty neat to turn cannibalistic and eat all the other protozoa. And so came the very first case of obesity in the history of mankind. Overtime, more of these obese protozoa developed, and as they continued to eat each other, they turned more and more into the shape of what was eventually deemed as “man”. Man came to create governments to help maintain stability in the chaotic realms of his world. He claimed that the duty of the government was to represent the general populace and to listen to whatever this populace had to offer.

Yet, for some reason, these duties were never reciprocated back from the populace itself, as they had chosen to ignore the incessant government warnings that, some day, the planet could actually reach its breaking point. They ignored government threats warning that if they drilled to the core of the Earth, they would most certainly find liquids along the way, but it most certainly would not be oil.  They had chosen to ignore the warning signs that Earth was deteriorating. All until it was too late to turn back.

By the time the people finally lifted their heads up from the computers and the unbelievably expensive power bill, it was far too late to turn back.

“Maybe we could just move somewhere else,” someone suggested. “I hear that we haven’t completely destroyed all of space yet.” (He was quite wrong, for that matter. But not that anybody knew.)

Since nobody else had the insight to come up with an alternative, it was decided that everyone would emigrate elsewhere in space. They wrote an appeal to their government, asking for permission to use some of the stored petroleum that the government had been keeping, just in case anything like this should come up. We want to go to another planet,” they wrote, “and find another place where we can charge our phones and get good cellular service.” They sent their letter off with high hopes.

The government took its time, as it always did, to answer. After three long months, a small note, printed on a sheet of fine plastic wrap (as trees, and subsequently paper, had long disappeared), arrived. The response was quite succinct:

No, but nice try.

Everybody was extremely taken back, as they had all the necessary equipment for the one-way flight and all they needed was government approval and some fuel. All they needed was a yes, or, at least, no response, so that they could just assume that the government was busy and didn’t have the time to deal with their trivial matter. Yet, clearly, the government had not thought of their plan as a trifle, and even had taken the time to write them a response, despite it being so terse and blunt.  It was quite clear that the government would take extreme measures to ensure that everyone would stay where they were.

Another letter was quickly written back, only this time slightly more assertive: “We seek your approval on letting us travel, as our phones are running out of battery and some of us really have to update our social media statuses. Quite honestly, we would just like to be anywhere but here.” They left the reasoning part out, added something that sounded slightly more professional, and sent it in, hoping that this time the government would be a little more lenient.

***

When one of the government staffers received the new letter, one of the first things he had to do was to quickly finish his sandwich so that he would have enough plastic wrap to write a response. The second thing he did was figure out how to formulate an answer that could concisely explain that nobody was not allowed to leave Earth, yet at the same time be convincing and satisfying enough so that he wouldn’t get another plea to leave and have to choke down another sandwich.

Hold on a second, he thought. Why can’t they leave?

If they leave, he thought, I’ll never get another one of these letters! No letter means no work!

The staffer was enthralled by the idea; he lumbered to the safe full of fuel and grabbed a canister to ship away. “Please do not feel the urge to write a thank you note,” he scratched on the bottle. “Your departure will be equally appreciated.”

***

Back home, everybody was elated to see a small package arrive. They hastily filled their rocket tank with fuel, and made some general calculations for how they were going to travel to their final destination (“Just point the rocket up. It doesn’t really matter where we land.”). Finally, the chance to devastate yet another planet had finally arrived!

The average amount of time required for a rocket to reach space is approximately eight minutes, but after fifteen minutes, it seemed that our heroes were nowhere close to space. They were starting to worry a little bit, but since there seemed to be nothing wrong with the machines or the control room, everybody just assumed that maybe they were going slower than usually recommended.

It is said that time goes by slower in space, as the planets’ orbiting around the sun and the galaxy result in approximately a one second loss per Earth week. The Earthlings most certainly felt this time loss, perhaps a little more than they were supposed to. It had already been half an hour, and there was still no sight of human-sized, parasitic-looking creatures, or extraterrestrial air crafts that shot out spectacular laser beams. The sky, or whatever it was that was surrounding them, was most certainly getting darker, but it wasn’t the kind of dark like when you forgot to turn on your night light at night. The air around them seemed to be much denser than before, and the color of the clouds around them was like the color of your phone screen the second after you shut it off, at that moment of transition from dying to dead. It was a very uncomfortable sight: just looking around made everybody cringe a little.

The eerie journey only worsened from there. It had been more than an hour since take off, and nobody was quite sure whether they were still trying to break through the atmosphere or if they were just in a very disappointing-looking part of space. The engine was starting to sputter sporadically, and people were beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with the shuttle, or even the fuel itself.

The hours of mental pandemonium turned into days. People began licking the oil off the plastic wrap letter from the government staffer, and chewing on their leather seats. By the end of the week, our advanced group of obese protozoa had been completely wiped out.

***

Meanwhile, back on the desolate wasteland, the government staffer who was obliviously eating another sandwich decided that it was time that he summon up some courage and ask someone about what was really up there, beyond Earth, when suddenly he saw a bright, shining object fall out of the sky. A sub? A gyro? Ooh- a calzone? No, that was too good to be true, but his inevitable sense of curiosity still drove him outside. He really hoped that there wasn’t rye bread: he had already had that for four days in a row, and it was starting to taste bland.

Fortunately, there wasn’t any rye bread. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any food either. Whatever it was, it was extremely worn out: the sides were dented so much that what appeared to be letters was completely illegible. The entire mechanism itself was crushed; just like the way the staffer himself crushed soda cans.  

The staffer was deeply immersed in the idea of getting a can of soda later when he suddenly heard a deep, bellowing voice. “What’s a damn spaceship doing out here?” It was the staffer’s boss.

A spaceship? The staffer mused, how would a spaceship get here? Wouldn’t it need fuel in order to…. Oh. Shoot.

(But he didn’t say shoot. He said something much worse.)

“Well, it most certainly can’t be our ship,” the staffer’s boss huffed. “We haven’t allowed anybody to leave the planet since, well, a long time!”

The staffer turned around to face the burly man that was his superior. Now was his chance to know the truth. “Why not, sir?” he asked nonchalantly.  

The staffer soon learned why not. After admitting his mistake, the staffer’s enraged boss sent him up on a spacecraft with another canister of petroleum. Six days later, another bright object came plummeting out of the sky. When it crashed, the shock created almost tangible waves, as the buildings nearby shook a little. This nearly scared the living daylights out of the new staffer who had been hired to replace the old one. He had clutched his sandwich in fear and buried it deep in his chest.

***

Years later, the mystery of the two unidentified objects that fell from the sky was resolved. Researchers had literally poured their blood, sweat, and tears into finding the answer to the phenomenon, but when the question was finally answered, nobody celebrated. The answer sent a simple but haunting message to the few earthlings that remained: nobody could ever leave the planet.

Apparently all the unattended trash particles and whatnot had come together and formed almost this sort of behemothic wall of plastic wrap and unpaid electric bills, which then, having no place to escape, began to cloak Earth’s upper atmosphere. Since nobody ever bothered to do anything about it, the wall had expanded exponentially in size over the years, until it was so thick that nothing could get in or out (since people had been relying on technology for the past few decades to live, sunlight and skin cancer hadn’t been much of a problem for a while). Therefore, the scientists reasoned, the two objects that fell out of the sky must have taken off from Earth, and when it crashed into the wall, the two aircrafts, having nowhere else to go, must have fallen back down to Earth, leading all of the passengers to their presumable deaths. Whatever actually happened to the bodies of the passengers still remains a mystery; the scientists had to go on their lunch break.

Dead on the Floor

Some people are just naturally gullible. L used to be one of them. Starting when he was in elementary school, he had the reputation for falling for even the most obvious tricks, which made him a top target for pranks. When he entered the land of real life, the pranks suddenly became serious, and he started losing real money for them. It could even be funny in a way how easily he fell for these scams, but unfortunately L is no longer around to tell us about them. He now lives in the afterlife of police investigations and gag orders.

Getting to that point usually involves long stories, hitmen, or money. The latter two played a big part in L’s situation, but the story isn’t as long as you might think.

One day, L was on a pirated TV website on his endless and hopeless quest to have one of his favorite teams, whether it be Real Madrid, the New England Patriots, or the Boston Celtics, actually win a championship. After clicking the link for the Real Madrid vs. Malaga game, he was flooded with advertisements for 30 seconds before he could watch the game.

The biggest advertisement, in the middle of the screen, showed a sloppily photoshopped image of a smiling man holding a stock photo of $100 bills. This didn’t matter to L, nor to any of the other suckers who were dumb enough to fall for this. Next to the man, there was a colorful, inviting box with the words “GET MONEY NOW!” scribbled onto it. As you might expect, L proudly clicked on the link and was redirected several times until he landed on a webpage titled “Stock Marketplace –– Tutorial.”

L quickly read through the instructions, how important could they be? He checked the box that said he had read the terms of service and agreed with them, and clicked the “next” button. The next page asked for his credit card number. L had promised himself to be a little bit more careful with his spending after his credit score tanked. He had been warned that a debt collector would show up at his house and they would have an unpleasant conversation. He got out of that situation by pleading with his “friend” from middle school who now worked at a very important government position to give him a loan. The friend wasn’t too happy to lend him the money, mainly because he knew he would never see it again, but out of compassion he reluctantly agreed.

L didn’t want to get back in the same situation, because he had a feeling his “friend” had limits to how much money he was going to donate to someone he probably hated very much.  However, believing that this “Stock Marketplace” was going to earn him money like the ad said, he took the risk.

Once he got onto the site, he saw he could make a “risk-free investment” of $50. He put it in a random stock, waited a minute, and then he got a message saying ‘congratulations, your investment is now worth $60.” He had earned $10 in a minute. Of course, he had no idea that the stocks were fake and that this was basically a rigged gambling website, but nobody who knew him would expect him to figure that out.

He decided that he would put a lot more money on the next stock. If he earned $10 with a $50 investment then with a $5,000 investment he would earn $1,000. It was something he had learned years ago in algebra class –– proportions, he thought. He clicked the button, and after a minute of glossing over the thought of finally getting rid of all his debts, even the one to his “friend,” he finally understood that this made-up stock market didn’t run on proportions.

Sorry, the screen said in small font, but your investment is now worth only $400. That was all. L stared at the screen for a minute, understanding that for the millionth time in his life he had been ripped off.

He just kept on staring at the screen for a couple minutes, but he was interrupted by a notification from his phone. He took it out of his pocket and saw that it was an alert from his credit card company. They had canceled his transaction with Stock Marketplace because it was blacklisted. At first he didn’t understand what transaction the app was talking about, he hadn’t pressed any buttons, but then he realized that the website was automatically charging him for each investment he lost money in. Anyway, he had been saved again, this time by Bank of America, and that meant a celebration. He turned off his computer and headed for his favorite bar.

He spent a long time in the bar, trying to attract girls with his stories of being miraculously saved from getting into bad situations. This obviously didn’t work, it only reinforced everyone’s belief that he was a loser lucky to be alive. Eventually, like every other time he came to this place, he gave up around midnight, walked back the five blocks to his apartment, and fell asleep.

The next morning, L was woken up very early, at around five a.m., by his phone ringing. He reached for it from his nightstand, and saw that he had been continuously called for half an hour by someone whose caller ID was 0000. Apparently he was in such a deep sleep he hadn’t noticed. He pressed talk and wondered who would call at such a disturbingly early hour.

It could be Marco, the owner of the neighborhood coffee shop where he had applied for a job. It could also be his landlord complaining about the lateness of his rent payments. And maybe, just maybe, it could be Marie, his ex-girlfriend who had broken up with him after he had dropped out of UDC. L had stalked her Instagram and Snapchat and saw that she was still single, which left the slight possibility that she might want to come back to him.

However, it was none of the above. The voice on the other end was very deep and sounded vaguely Russian. He said his name was Eddie and suggested that they go straight to business. L wasn’t really awake enough to talk business but Eddie didn’t seem to care.

“As the treasurer of Stock Marketplace company,” he said, “I alert you that you owe us $4,600 American dollars. You have 15 hours to put money in box outside your building. No police, we have gun.” He then said something in another language, and L heard something that sounded like someone banging on a trash can, and then screaming. Before L could explain his financial troubles to Eddie, he hung up.

Most people would think this was a dumb prank. Not L, he believed everything the man said. And that meant he needed to come up with $4,600 quickly.

Why does this always have to happen to me? he asked himself. Every year, he thought, I get ripped off by some idiotic creep who sometimes isn’t even trying to rip me off, but it always ends up with me being thousands of dollars in debt. That was true, but he comforted himself by remembering that he always got out of these situations in the end. Three times his parents had bailed him out, last time his “friend” did it. Neither were likely to do so again. He had no obvious options.

The reason that L always got out of these situations is that when he really wanted to use it, he had a very good memory.  The reason he didn’t like using it was that there was probably a lot more stuff he would like to forget than remember. But this was a life-or-death situation. And if he could vaguely remember the name of one person who might be able to help him, then he would be on the life side. And if he didn’t, then he was screwed.

L thought very hard. The one place where he remembered that he met a lot of rich and smart people was two years ago in his 8th grade reunion. Everyone who bothered to come had just graduated from college and had gotten a good job. He had just started going to UDC, which was enough to please some of his teachers. He remembered that he had been given a paper with everyone’s name, job, and phone number. Of course, he had lost it. But then he thought harder, and he remembered that they put the paper on the school website.

He quickly opened the browser on his phone and went to alicedeal.org. The paper wasn’t on the front page, and he wouldn’t expect it to be there because it was two years old. He started going to random pages until under the “ADCA” tab he found a page that said “alumni.” He selected his school year and soon found what he had been looking for, the list of all the people who came to the reunion.

First he looked at the names, trying to find some of the people that were close enough to him to remember who he was. Only one came to the reunion, a short German kid who was a lawyer somewhere in New York. He had a feeling he might need a lawyer soon, but that was not an immediate priority. Then he started looking at the jobs. He was looking for some banker or maybe a cop or security guard. There were four people that worked in the financial industry, he knew none of them. There was one cop, one he even knew slightly, but then he remembered Eddie’s warning about “no police.”

Eventually, he found the name of his “friend”, who was a diplomat. Even if he wasn’t going to loan him money, L remembered that he had said that he worked in the International Organized Crime subsection in the State Department, which sort of sounded like what he was facing.

L called the phone number that was listed on the paper. It rang three times, then a message started playing:

“Hello, this is Verizon customer service. The number that you are trying to reach has been temporarily shut down by request of the owner, please try again later. Thank you.”

He called it again, and the same message played. He had no time to waste. He had put a work number there too, and he called it.

“Hello, this is Molly at the Organized Crime section of the State Department, how can I help you?”

L was expecting it to go straight to his friend, not to this person, whoever she is.

“Um, I want to speak with Mr. Lehrer. It’s, you know, uh, extremely urgent.”

“Mr Lehrer left for a post in Moscow last month,” she said.

“Yeah, you see that’s a slight problem. I sort of really need to talk to him.”

“Sorry, I can’t reach him. Even if I could I’m not allowed to disclose information to anonymous strangers. Have a nice day.” She hung up.

L could see that his search wasn’t going anywhere. If his friend was in Moscow, then he probably couldn’t help him. Even if he wasn’t, then he had no way to reach him. Time to try someone else. There was a slight problem with that, though. Everyone else on the list either hated him or had no idea who he was. Then something caught his eye, Adrian Lehrer wasn’t the only person on the list that worked for the State Department. There was another one who worked in the Foreign Aid section.

He only vaguely remembered this guy, Ian, who rode on his bus and was in a class with him once or twice. But he did remember seeing him hanging out with Adrian, which meant they probably knew each other. He dialed the number.

“Hello,” Ian answered, “who is it?”

“Yeah, I’m L, a person who rode your bus in middle school.”

“I don’t remember you, what do you want? I’m busy.”

“You remember Adrian Lehrer, he went to Deal?”

“He also works here. He’s in Russia now, what happened to him?”

“Nothing, I just want his number so I can call him. I, um, have important information to give him.”

“What type of important information could you have?”

“Not important, just give me his number.”

“Fine, it’s +7 2365-403-891. Happy now?”

L hung up and immediately dialed the number. It rang once, and then, he heard a message in what he assumed to be Russian. He tried a couple more times, and he kept on getting the same message. He glanced at the clock, it was 10:48 a.m., he only had nine of his 15 hours left to get the money.

He threw his phone on the bed in frustration. Why was his friend so unreachable? The only other option he could think of was to start an online fundraiser, but those never worked. In fact, it seemed as though the only point of online fundraisers was to give you false hope before they inevitably failed. No bank was going to loan him money, and his childhood friends were even less likely to donate to his get-out-of-trouble fund.

But then, he had a new idea. If his friends weren’t going to help him, then maybe his teachers would. He remembered from the reunion that one of them was dead, another was living in another state, and that left his science and math teachers to organize the reunion. His math teacher would probably just tell him “l told you so” and scold him for not listening in the finance lessons. But his science teacher was a different story.

He was a very nice teacher that could do many things, and L was sure he would either loan him money or help him find Adrian. L especially remembered that he sat behind Adrian in that class. L had done many annoying and dumb things to him, which was why Adrian hated him.

L held his breath and dialed the number. It was answered after three rings.

“Hello?” the science teacher asked.

“Hi, um, it’s L, the kid from your fourth period in your first year teaching.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Remember me? I sat behind Adrian but you moved me because I didn’t know how to peer edit an essay.”

“Oh, you. I remember you. What do you want?”

“So, it’s a weird story, but I probably owe some money to some guy Eddie. Problem is no one is going to loan me money.”

“You know, teachers are poor. We don’t make that much money.”

“Fine, you see I think this Eddie is some foreign gangster. Adrian apparently is an expert on these groups and he’s in Russia now with the embassy.”

“Okay.”

“Problem is that I can’t reach him. I got his number from his friend but it dosen’t work. Can you help?”

“Okay, I will try, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

L hung up and sat down on his bed. He had now come to the conclusion that he probably wasn’t going to get the money that he needed to pay Eddie and the best he could do was get some information from Adrian on who exactly he owed money to. Except he wasn’t even sure that would happen considering how hard it had been to make contact with him. He thought about his options for a couple more minutes, and then his phone suddenly buzzed. He picked it up, it was Marco. He had a job.

Once he got to the coffee shop, Marco quickly explained to him his pretty simple job. He was supposed to take orders for customers and type each option on his computer. It was extremely boring, and he even thought about taking all the money from the cash register but he knew Marco would find out before he could get the cash to Eddie. More importantly, he worked from 11:30 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., leaving him only three hours to get the money once he ended his shift. And he got no messages from his science teacher his entire shift, which probably meant that he hadn’t found Adrian’s number.

He ran the five blocks back to his apartment and decided the only way he could get out of this mess was to run away. He could leave most of his possessions at his house, he had no need for them. He had no idea where he was going to hide, probably in some forest somewhere, although he knew nothing about wilderness survival. And that way he hoped Eddie wouldn’t find him.

With no particular destination in mind, he got on the bus to Union Station with his last remaining money, about $60, and hoped it was enough to buy a train ticket. It probably wasn’t, but that was fine because he could stop at the bank and withdraw the other little money he had there. And if that didn’t work he would sell his computer. Either way, he was somehow going to get enough money to run off to wherever it was that Eddie couldn’t find him.

There was one small problem with that though. When he reached the station, he quickly figured out that $60 wasn’t enough to buy a train ticket. So he went to an ATM, except it didn’t work. He put in his PIN three times, but it always gave him an error message. He was sure he put it in right, but he was running out of time so he decided to try his last option, pawning his computer.

That wasn’t going to work either, because as he discovered, there weren’t any Apple stores in Union Station, and he was doubtful he could do it anywhere else. Not only could he not get any money, but by looking at the signs, he discovered that he needed an ID to get on the train, and he had left it at home. He was stuck in DC, unless he felt like endlessly walking toward some imaginary place.

At first, he panicked. But then he realized that DC was a big city. He could hide in some place downtown and no one could find him. He didn’t know where exactly that place was, but he knew he was safer hiding in an alley then in his apartment, where Eddie knew where he was. He just walked out of the station and found a Starbucks nearby. He decided to sit there until it closed, then he could figure out his hiding place for tonight.

While he was there, he thought about what the people in his favorite crime shows would have done. He wasn’t fit enough to win a fight against some gorilla and he couldn’t completely transform himself overnight. The one thing he could remember that nearly everybody did was get rid of their phones, which could be tracked. The AT&T store was across the street, but once he got up, his phone rang. It was his science teacher.

“Listen,”he said “I got Adrian’s number. He’s in a meeting in Belgium.”

“Whatever, what is it?”

“+7 832 4512 043.”

“So it’s a Russian number?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I got his Russian number from his friend, but it didn’t work.”

“Why, do you know the friend?”

“No, I mean not since middle school.”

“Then why would he give you the number?”

L shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Whatever, just call him if you’d like.”

L hung up and quickly dialed this new number. What he didn’t realize was that it was the middle of the night in Brussels.

“Hello?” a tired voice answered.

“It’s L.”

“What do you want? If it’s another loan, then the answer is no, especially at this hour.”

“No it’s not that. I heard you work against organized criminals.”

“I try to, but they are usually smarter than us.”

“Well, I think I have a little problem with this guy Eddie who wants to kill me because he thinks I owe him money.”

“Who is he, a loan shark?”

“No, a scammer.”

“What’s new?”

“Well, do you actually owe him money?”

“Sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of?”

“I lost a lot of money to his thing called Stock Marketplace. But I think it was rigged.”

“Wait, you fell for that scam? Me and my EU colleagues would probably agree that you’re the first. And in that case, no I’m not giving you any money, so good luck paying them back.” And with that, he hung up.

L dropped his phone on the floor. The whole reason he had not ran out of the city in the morning was that he was sure he would get advice and maybe money from his friend. Before he could decide what to do, someone tapped him on the shoulder. L looked up at her.

“Have you ever heard of the opportunities you could get by trading Forex?” she asked.

“No.” L had no idea what that was.

“If you want to hear about them, then come with me to the back.”

L stood up and followed her to the back.

“So this Forex thing, how does it work?” L asked.

“It doesn’t,” the woman said. In a quieter voice she asked, “Where’s the money?” She put a gun to his chest.

“At my house,” L said. And with that lie, a silenced gunshot entered his body, and two seconds later he was dead on the floor.

Ode to the WiFi

Dearest, beloved WiFi,
We all know that you lie.
The “Fi” in your name has no meaning,
And your lack of stability leaves us screaming.
So, dearest WiFi, why won’t you work?
Your absurd excuses make us go berserk.
But we will keep waiting,
With expectations of connecting
Before your linking bridges
Burn against our wishes,
And our hopes of productivity
Are crushed by your insensitivity
To our feelings
And to our dreams.

Survivor

Theodora, called Tedd by everyone but her parents, was lying awake. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired. She was exhausted from her run to celebrate the beginning of spring break earlier that day. But she wasn’t sleepy, and she couldn’t get the thoughts of what she could do with her short-lived freedom out of her head. The only problem was that tomorrow, Tedd would have to go with her father to the hardware store to get a new fire alarm. Their only one was broken.

Tedd was thinking all of this when she heard a noise similar to the one that she had been hearing all night, but had dismissed as the wind. But this wasn’t the familiar whisper of the wind. This was a roar. She rose from her bed slowly, giving the noise time to go away. But it remained, even increasing. Tedd walked to the door of her room and opened it. She was struck by terror at what she saw.

Instead of the darkness of the night, the hall leading to her parents’ room — along with her brother’s — was lit by fire. This was not a small fire. This was easily four and a half feet tall, around her own height.
Logically, Tedd knew what she should do: scream for her family to hear her and wake up. But she could not summon breath from her lungs. The scream would not come out, just a pathetic whimper. And the fire drew closer to her, and she could feel its terrible heat on her skin. She ran, ran back to her room, throwing books in her backpack that she could sell and books that she could not live without. As the fire drew closer, as she heard the screams, Tedd frantically banged on the window until it cracked open. She jumped out of the window, barely feeling the pain of the cut glass and the fall, too terror-stricken to feel anything.

As Tedd’s world burned, the eleven-year-old ran on to her school, sobbing, but unable to stop, unable to save her family. She finally arrived at her school, charging up the hill. Now, she had nothing to distract from her thoughts, not even her books, for it was night, and there was no moon. And she started hearing the screams in her head, how they were drawn out before they ended, cut off by death.
Coward, she thought to herself. You could have saved them all, but you were too concerned for your own survival to do anything more than run. I hate you, me. I want you to die. You deserve death, for failing them.

But if she died, Tedd realized, there would be nothing left of her family, nobody to tell their story, to remember them, to fulfill their hopes. So she had to survive, which meant she could never, ever think of tonight again, or she would be torn apart with the memory of their screams.
In the field where she had played as a happy child, she made a plan for survival. Goal: Survive. Her first long-term priority would be to never be sent to Open Heart Orphanage. Tedd had heard all too much about that orphanage, about the abuse and starvation the orphans went through. Too many children who went to the orphanage never came out. Her second priority was school. If she was able to eventually get a scholarship to college, she would be able to work up to a job where she would be in a position to tell her family’s story and be heard. She would also have access to a dorm. But for now, she needed to survive, and for that, she needed money. And it was spring break… Yes. Tomorrow, Tedd would need to get a job.

Tedd walked across the bustling street, trying to pretend that she was all right. She winced with every step. Having lost her shoes in the fire, walking across the jagged surface of the street pained her considerably. She could only hope that she wouldn’t be hurt before she could buy shoes.

After what seemed like an infinite amount of time darting between busy crowds, Tedd finally reached the used bookstore. She had previously volunteered there, as part of a program at her school. The owner had been friendly to her before, and she hoped that he would be as friendly when she told him that she wanted money.

The bookstore, as usual, was empty at this time of day, although the owner and his one assistant were in there getting ready for the day. Tedd could just barely see them vacuuming the floor as she stood on her tiptoes to peer through the window. Taking a deep breath and summoning courage, Tedd knocked on the wooden door. She waited a couple of seconds as the assistant, a tall young woman called Carol, opened the door.

“Oh, hello, Tedd!” Carol said. “If you want to buy anything, you’ll need to wait about ten minutes while we get the store ready.”

“Actually,” Tedd replied. “I’m here because I was wondering if I could work here.”

“Oh,” Carol said, realizing that Tedd wasn’t talking about volunteering. “You’ll have to talk with the manager about that.”
“Can I ask him now?”

“Sure,” Carol said, stepping aside to allow Tedd into the doorway. Carol tapped the manager, a bearded man named Josh, on the shoulder. “Josh, there’s someone who wants a job here.”

Josh looked up. “Well, if it isn’t Tedd Smith!”

“Sir,” said Tedd, “I came to ask if you might want an extra hand around the store.”

“That would be nice,” Josh said. “But it’s … unusual, to say the least, to hire a — how old are you again?”

“Twelve,” Tedd lied. While no eleven year old would be seen as mature enough to work for money, twelve year olds were seen as slightly more responsible.

Josh paused for a second, unsure of how to proceed. “Actually …  then you might be more acceptable to our customers.”

“Look at how many books need shelving.” Tedd gestured to the endless stacks of books lying on the floor. “I worked for you for two weeks, so you know I’m competent. I won’t need any lunch breaks. And I wouldn’t ask for high wages.”

Josh nodded. “Let’s say five dollars an hour.”

Carefully, trying not to appear greedy, Tedd said, “Well, minimum wage is around seven dollars an hour. I was thinking more along that wage.”

“Minimum wage,” Josh argued, “is set with people who are independent in mind. You have parents to provide for you.”

Tedd wished that she could share the truth. Josh would probably not send her to Open Heart, but that was the thing: probably. She could not afford to take the risk of being sent there, no matter how small.
So she said, “How about we compromise on six dollars?”

Josh hesitated for a moment before nodding and sticking out his hand. Tedd stuck out her own and shook it.

Eight hours later, it was 4:00 PM. Tedd had worked hard, walking quickly away from every possible human gaze, afraid that they might see her bare feet or something in her face hinting at what she had lost. There had been close calls, but nobody had realized that they had an orphan in their store.
And Tedd had received forty-eight dollars. Maybe two days ago, she would have found some kind of thrill in having so much money, but now there was only the dull thanks. So now, she was headed to the shoe store. If any workers there asked why she had no shoes, she planned to say that she had lost them.

When Tedd entered the store, she didn’t wait for anybody to come up to her and look at her shoe size. Either her shoes would fit, or she would make them fit. She walked directly to the children’s shoe section, selected the cheapest ones that looked vaguely big enough, and bought them for thirty-four dollars, quickly exiting before the cashier could notice anything about her.

Finding an open bench, Tedd quickly sat herself down, stuffing the remaining fourteen dollars into her backpack as she slipped the plain brown shoes onto her feet. While she had had some limited feet protection with her socks, having shoes on felt much better against the pavement. And then, because she hadn’t had any food or drinks for twenty-two hours, her stomach rumbled ominously, and Tedd bent over in hunger pains.

Right then, she thought. I guess I’d better go get some food. Maybe Starbucks?

As she walked down the block, she noticed a slight decrease in the number of people. The streets were still busy, but not like before. People were probably going home — which brought up an urgent question. Where would her home be? Where was Tedd going to sleep? She could sleep in the city, she supposed, but that seemed like it would lead to getting mugged or catching a disease from the many, many people who spent their days there. Possibly the school campus? The fence was easy to climb, at least.

Tedd nodded to herself, deciding that she would check the school after she got food. She decided to have a grilled cheese for $5.25, leaving $8.75 left. Tedd then drank the rest of her water bottle’s contents, temporarily sating her.

Then, she began the long walk to the school. When Tedd arrived, the gate was closed, but she was able to easily climb through the small holes in the fence. She walked around the school, eventually selecting a small spot with hay scattered on the ground. Placing her backpack on the ground to use as a pillow, Tedd drew out Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, losing herself for a little while in Harry’s world.

She awoke from thirst and hunger. Apparently, half a water bottle around five hours before sleep wasn’t enough to satisfy her throat, which felt like a dry stone, and her stomach, which she had previously held at bay with grilled cheese, was joining in protest. Its growling was enough to awaken a nearby squirrel, which scampered off in fear of an unseen dog. Tedd decided that she could take the chance of Starbucks not being open yet and set off at a run.  

Thankfully, Starbucks was open, and Tedd was just about to purchase another grilled cheese, when the cashier asked her why she was alone.

“Because,” Tedd said, thinking fast, “My parents say that it’s important to learn how to buy things on my own.”

The cashier raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything more. Tedd quickly took the sandwich and paid, leaving her with just $3.50 in her backpack. She didn’t want to think about the real reason she was alone.

As the day wore on, more and more people asked her about her parents. Carol asked her why her parents weren’t picking her up or dropping her off.
“Well, my mom and dad have jobs farther out, and I can walk here,” Tedd said, trying to remain calm.

“Oh, that makes sense,” Carol said, nodding her head.

Tedd took a deep breath and went back to shelving books. At the end of the eight hours, it was four o’clock again, and Carol gave Tedd her forty-eight dollars, meaning Tedd now had $51.50 to spend. Tedd went as quickly as she could to Starbucks, buying another grilled cheese ($46.25 remained) and hungrily devouring it. As she walked to the school, she realized that tomorrow was the end of spring break. How would she make sure that she awoke in time for school, and in time not to be seen by any other students?

Tedd’s musings were interrupted when she felt a drop of rain on her head. She looked up and saw the darkest, bleakest clouds she had ever seen, ready to pour buckets of rain. Tedd ran to the school, frantically climbing over the fence. She ran all over the school as she heard the first crack of thunder and flash of lightning, too close together for comfort. Tedd didn’t know what she was looking for, other than a place of shelter.

Then, Tedd saw what she was looking for. It was a fenced-off area with a big, metal, rectangular box-like thing in the middle, but what drew Tedd’s attention was the stairs going down from it, hinting at a kind of shelter.

Even more frantically than before, Tedd practically leaped over the fence, running to the stairs down below. As she clambered down, she found that she was protected from the storm by the ground above. Tedd huddled there, alone in the darkness of the stairs for what seemed like forever, too terrified of the lightning to come out until the rain had completely stopped. By that time, it was well into the night. As Tedd walked up to the entrance of the stairway, she wondered how expensive sleeping pads were. Maybe she could get a cheap one at at L.L. Bean tomorrow.

Tedd returned to her thoughts on how to make sure that she was awake in time for morning. She decided to try and stay awake, and returned to reading her book, squinting at the pages under the moonlight.

As the sun rose, a tired Tedd went to look at the clock. She couldn’t get inside, as the building was locked, but she could look through the window and see that the clock said 3:30 AM. So that meant five and a half hours before it opened. It would probably be best if she remained here so that nobody could see her and wonder what she was doing. At least the sun meant she could more easily re-read the book she had only read ten times. Tedd stayed there with a gradually growing crowd of other children until the doors opened at nine o’clock. Then, a horde of children walked grudgingly towards the gym for the usual assembly.

As usual, Tedd paid no attention to the long speech, instead looking for her friend, Alyssa. Spotting her over by the door, Tedd crawled over.
“How was your spring break?” Tedd whispered.

“It was good. How was yours?”

Tedd hesitated. While she trusted Alyssa not to give her up to the authorities, there were plenty of kids nearby who could easily overhear them. So she said, “It was good.”

Alyssa frowned, noticing the hesitation. She knew Tedd well and could easily tell when she was hiding something. “Why did you pause just then? Anything bad happen?”

Tedd was about to respond when the bell rang, and the stampede began. Tedd grabbed her ragged backpack and dashed off to homeroom.

After the usual announcements about lunch, the class transitioned into writing.
“Your assignment,” her teacher began, “is to write realistic fiction. This story must be at least twenty pages long, and at most fifty pages. You have two weeks to write the story. Go!”
This, Tedd realized, was her chance to write her parents’ stories. Tedd lunged for the nearest computer, barely beating two of her classmates to it. Ignoring their groans as every other computer was taken, Tedd began to write about her father’s career as a journalist, writing the story of his story about the presidential campaign, how he had traveled halfway across the country to not only speak with the presidential candidates, but also the delegates of swing states and a third-party, and had successfully predicted the outcome of the election, a feat which not many had been able to accomplish.

She was halfway through at twenty-three pages when the class ended, and they were shuttled off to their next subject. This continued on until lunch, when she finally got a chance to talk with Alyssa. However, she was forced to buy the awful school pizza ($41.50).

“So, what are you writing?” Alyssa asked.

“A story about a journalist who undergoes a deep investigation about the election and manages to defy its unpredictable nature. You?”

“I’m writing a story about how students rise up against a power-hungry principal. What happened over spring break that you’re not telling me about?”

“How about we talk about this after school?” Tedd suggested nervously.

Alyssa frowned. “Okay, but don’t run off without telling me.”

“I won’t.”

Recess came, and Tedd played chess with a classmate. He won, since he was a chess champion, but the game was closer than usual.

Science and music passed, and the school day was finally over, though not without a heavy helping of homework. Tedd searched for Alyssa, finding her near the usual crowd of children waiting for their parents.

“There you are,” Tedd said. “Come on, I’d prefer to talk on the blacktop.”

The blacktop was completely empty, and therefore perfect for Tedd’s purposes. Quietly, she told the entire story to Alyssa, though she could barely get it out without sobbing.

“Wow,” Alyssa said after a minute spent in awkward silence. “That’s awful!”

“Yes, it is,” Tedd said.

Alyssa hesitated for a second, a look of pity and confusion on her face. “Tedd, if you want, I could ask my dad if you could stay overnight at our house.”

“No, but thanks,” said Tedd after a moment of thought. “But if your dad could drop me off at the library, that would be nice.”

Tedd knew that while the library had books, they also had computers. If they had computers, then she could use them to access her story and work some more on it. And while a night under a roof would be nice, there would inevitably be questions from Alyssa’s parents about why Tedd’s parents weren’t picking her up. Besides, she needed to tell her father’s story far more than she needed a night with air conditioning.

“Okay,” said Alyssa.

An hour later, it was nearly closing time at the library, but Tedd had still not finished her story. And while she was concentrating on it to the exclusion of nearly everything else, she couldn’t help but notice that everyone else was filing out of the library. Tedd sat there for a minute trying to figure out what to do. And then she saw out of the corner of her eye, the bathroom.
The bathroom! That was it! If she went into the bathroom and hid behind the toilet, a feat which she thought she would be able to accomplish, then after the janitor left, she could continue writing her father’s story. She quickly walked to the bathroom, opening the creaking wooden door. Inside, the toilet was filthy, but Tedd couldn’t bring herself to care. She crawled behind the toilet, contorting her body into the fetal position, and waited, trying to ignore the stench.

Then, a growl issued from her stomach, and Tedd realized that she was hungry again. She supposed that her focus on the story had distracted her from her empty stomach. Tedd’s stomach growled again, a threatening sound, and Tedd heard the sound of footsteps drawing nearer. It had to be the janitor. If the janitor heard her stomach, then he would find her, and she would be sent to the orphanage. The stories of her family would never be told in there.

In desperation, Tedd tore an empty page from one of her books and started to chew quietly on it. The door creaked open. Tedd froze, hoping that the page would be enough to keep her stomach quiet for just long enough until the janitor left. She couldn’t see the janitor, but she could hear his steps on the floor drawing closer and closer to the toilet. The janitor halted. Tedd heard the sound of a brush scraping against the toilet. This persisted for about a minute. Miraculously, her stomach made no sound. As the door creaked open again, Tedd couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief.

“What was that?” the janitor said to himself suddenly.

Tedd froze.

“Is there a rat in there?”

As he approached the toilet again, Tedd held her breath and became totally still.
“Ah, it’s probably just my imagination,” the janitor said after what seemed like an eternity.

Finally, the door slammed closed as the janitor left. Tedd peeked out of her hiding place. Even in the dark, she could see that nobody was there. Tedd drew in huge mouthfuls of air and began to count inside her head. She decided that after she reached ten minutes, she would look out of the room.

Ten minutes came, and Tedd opened the door an inch or so. Nobody was in the library. She opened the door all the way to leave. Quickly, she walked over to the computer and began writing again. Around midnight, she finished her father’s story and her tribute. And then, her hungry stomach reminded her that it would love some food. Her exhausted brain replied that she hadn’t slept for two nights now. She decided to pick her mind, reasoning that if she slept, there would be a period of time when she wouldn’t be hungry. After she looked up directions to the school, she started running there, knowing that criminals could be out tonight. Thankfully, she reached the school without an incident. Falling asleep almost as soon as she lay down on the hay, Tedd’s last thought was that she had paid her debt to her father.

Tedd woke up at nine o’clock, awakened by the sound of the bell. While kids were gathered on the stairs next to the building, none of them had noticed Tedd lying asleep in the field. She rose, strolling as if she had come from the side of the field. Nobody seemed to realize that anything was out of the ordinary.

Later that morning, in writing class, she approached her teacher, who was sorely tempted to back away from Tedd’s stench.

“What do I do if I’m finished?”
The teacher raised her eyebrows. “You’ve finished already? Can you show me your story?”

Tedd got on the one computer left and brought up her story. The teacher looked through it carefully, pointing out some errors Tedd had made, most of them caused by working late at night while tired and hungry. Tedd was quick to fix them.

“This is a great story, Tedd,” her teacher said, impressed. “If it would be alright with you, I would like to print this out and add it to the classroom library.”

Tedd could not believe what her teacher was saying. If it was added to the classroom library, then generations of students would have the opportunity to read her father’s story.

“That would be great! Thank you so much!” Tedd said, overwhelmed by gratitude. “But there’s another story I would like to work on…”

The teacher nodded. “Go ahead,” she said.

Sitting down at the computer, Tedd began the story of her mother.

***

Soon, Tedd’s debts to both her mother and father were paid. She began thinking of life not as a simply necessary object to remember her mother, father, and brother, but as something enjoyable and full of opportunity. So she made sure that she continued life by working after school for the bookstore. She continued to live at the school, walking to high school later. Through determination and hard work, she was able to get a scholarship to college. She became a history writer, telling the stories of others who had lost their lives. And while her guilt over not waking up her family would always remain, while she had life, she had the opportunity to become a better person and overcome her cowardice. The world was not such a horrible place.

The Girl in the Portrait (Excerpt)

It was a lovely time. Haughty parties with the best orchestras, delicacies from every corner of the world, dapper suits with a ridiculous amount of accessories, fancy dresses with at least ten petticoats. She had a lovely life. At the top of her selfish society, free to bully and ridicule anyone she chose with no consequences.

The party, too, was lovely. Her seventeenth birthday celebration was by far the most extravagant party the small, rich town had ever seen. Everything about the town, the girl, and her party was ideal. She had the kind of life free of hardships that nearly everyone at that time, or anytime, might kill for. And on that lovely night, someone did.

***

The whole town has forgotten about it. It happened so long ago that the death of the girl who’d lived here before us has been long forgotten. But there is her portrait on the wall of her family’s old mansion, turned into an art museum by my mom. As I stare up at it, I can’t help but wonder what happened to her all those decades ago.

“Lucas? Why are you just staring at that old painting? I know it’s late, but you have to get back to work,” Mom scolds me. I jump. I hadn’t realized she’d been standing there.

“Who is that?” I ask, looking up at the girl’s sleek black hair and narrowed hazel eyes. Mom groans.

“You’ve not heard of her? Honestly, Lucas, I gave you that computer for research. Haven’t you learned anything about your own town?” Mom says, exasperated. “This is Adelaide Bellamy, daughter of Augustus Bellamy. Hopefully, you at least know he founded your new town.”

I look back up at Adelaide, and our eyes seem to meet. “What did she do?”

Mom sighs. “She probably would have married and taken over the town, but… well, she was, uh, murdered when she was your age. You know, I think it happened in the ballroom right over there, but they never found out who did it.”

I stare at her in disbelief. “Wait, so she died in this house? Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?”

How could something so horrible happen to someone like that? Why did it happen? Despite how creepy it is, my curiosity is instantly spiked. Mom just shrugs.

“Because, Luke. You’d constantly be looking for ghosts instead of doing your chores, and we can’t have that, right? Now, go back to work.”

I nod distractedly, turning back to face the portrait. Adelaide’s painted eyes are so alive. It makes the fact that she’s been dead for over a century even more disturbingly intriguing. Such a fascinating color. Who would want to kill someone so pretty?

“Luke!” Mom barks.

I jump. “Jeez, Mom, I’m going. Calm down!” I snap, stalking off to the old ballroom.

I plan to finish cleaning this or hanging that, I really do. But I am too distracted by how someone died in this very room. I sit on the stage, wondering exactly what had happened. There had probably been a party or gala. I can almost see Adelaide dancing around the shiny marble floor.

“Lucas! Honestly, I know you’re tired, but we’ve gotta get this place open tomorrow! Stop. Thinking. About. Adelaide.” Mom yells, snapping her fingers in front of me. I blink a few times and realize Mom has probably been standing there for a while.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, going over to straighten a frame. “I am not thinking about the dead girl. I’m working!”

She sighs. “Yeah, yeah. If you are doing it now, I suppose it’s alright.” Mom grumbles.

For the rest of the night, I go around the rooms with her and clean everything. Before I go to bed, I take one last glance at Adelaide.

“What happened to you?” I mutter.

She stares at me, silent and still.

 

Birthday Surprise

Piper McCarthy blinked the morning grogginess away, then rocketed out of bed.

Birthday! Thirteen! Special!, were the first thoughts to zoom through her head. Standing in front of the mirror, she checked herself. Her frizzy, brown hair was as messy as ever, and her storm-gray eyes were exactly the same as they’d been since she was born. Her warm, brown skin looked and felt fine. No fangs, wings, scales, feathers, or fur had grown overnight. No gills or claws, either. She made a red X over a box on a chart taped to her wall. Squeezing her eyes closed, she tensed all her muscles and stood on her very tippiest toes. When she didn’t float up to the ceiling, she made another X on a different box.

Several exercises later, including (but not only) staring at a match, talking to her cat, Inkpot, and trying to see what her mom was thinking from the kitchen (all of which got an X on the chart), Piper arrived at the final test.

Please, please, please! Work! she begged, panicked. Here goes.

Crouching down, she thought decisively, I am a cat. I am a cat.

She tugged on her left earlobe nervously. I am a — POP!

Suddenly, she was a lot closer to the ground than she had been before.

I am not a cat.

She glanced down. She still had human hands, and legs, and feet. Then, why was everything so big? Oh, no, no, no!

With a yowl, the cat leapt down from the bed, thumping to the floor. Running desperately, Piper tried to jump over the long bristles of her shag carpet, her now-tiny slippers falling off her feet. Piper floated up, up above Inkpot, and close to the ceiling.

Oh, no, why’d I’d have to be a Different!?

When she eventually floated into the kitchen (it took a little while to figure out she could control her flight with certain movements, although she did still flap her arms unnecessarily), her mom looked up from her newspaper and coffee at the sound of Piper’s  voice.

“Good morning, sweetie! Um, where are you? Oh, are you invisible? Wonderful!”

“Actually, Mom, not so much. I’m up here.”

“Ooh, are you super small? Are you a fly? Where are you?”

Piper floated down, bumping against the marble counter top. “Right here, Mom.”

“So you are super small! But how can you fly, then?” Mrs. McCarthy was confused.

“I’m not a Shrinker,” Piper sighed.

“Then, what are you? I didn’t think Flyers could shrink.”

“They can’t, Mom. At least I don’t think so. But I’m not a Flare, Flyer, Shrinker, Fluffy, Changer, Speeder, Stronger, or any of the normal ones at all. Not even a Sensier.”

“Oh, sweetie! A Different? Are you sure?”

“I most certainly am.”

“Oh, your father won’t be happy.”

“He sure won’t.”

Piper’s father was a Flare, someone who could manipulate fire, and he was the principal of a prestigious school for other Flares. Being very well known and respected, he did everything he could to maintain a very normal appearance to the public, despite Piper being a “late bloomer” — someone who got their powers after turning twelve. Your thirteenth birthday was your last chance, because you couldn’t get a power after that. He did not much like Differents, mostly because his brother (who had always been a rival to him) had been one. Piper’s mother was a Fluffy and could thus communicate with animals, which was why Inkpot liked her best.

“Oh, sweetie,” Piper’s mom sighed.

Piper’s stomach rumbled.

“I’m hungry.”

Her mom tried to smile.

“I’ll get you some pancakes.”

Piper sat on the counter in silence while Mrs. McCarthy puttered around the kitchen, warming up some frozen pancakes. Piper fiddled with a Post-It note, folding it into a boat big enough for her to sit in. She plopped into the boat and wished for a normal power, like underwater breathing or butterfly wings. Differents were just, well, different. They were rare, for one thing, and weird. They usually had a combination of a couple of normal powers, though there were some odd ones like the girl whose singing made turtles fall asleep. Nobody liked Differents, though Piper had never been told why. Her stomach twisted at the thought of what her classmates were going to say. At least it was better than being a Nothing, someone with no powers.

Trying to be positive, she thought, At least I can fly, what I wanted most… and shrinking isn’t too bad — I just have to do both at the same time. She tried to smile.

Her mom clattered the plate of pancakes down in front of her and thumped down into her seat. Picking up her cell phone, she began to type furiously, though trying to tilt the phone away from Piper so she couldn’t read it. Pretending to go to wash her hands at the sink, Piper glanced at the website her mom was on. Rinsing her hands in a tiny puddle on the edge of the sink, she read the title of the site: “What To Do With A Different Child.” Piper felt like she’d flown into the refrigerator. Was being a Different really that bad? With an ironic twist of a smile, she noted that her power seemed to include super senses too. She could see everything. She could hear the tiny clinks of her mom’s mug and the rustle of the paper. Although she was still hurt by her mother’s internet search, she resolved to use her power as often as she could.

It‘s probably great for eavesdropping, she thought wryly.

Zipping back to the plate of pancakes, her newly sharpened sense of smell was overwhelmed by the scent of maple syrup and chocolate chips. Looking up from her newspaper, Mrs. McCarthy pointedly glanced at the plate and back at Piper.

“Okay, you might want to get big again.”

“I can’t.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Well, how did you get small in the first place?”

“I was crouching,” Piper bent down, “and I thought that I was a cat, and it happened.”

“Do it again.”

Piper thought, I am a cat. I am a cat. I am a cat! Nothing. I am a cat, cat, CAT! Nothing. I AM A CAT! And suddenly… nothing.

“It’s not working,” her mom observed.

“I can see that,” Piper snapped back.

“You must have done something else. Think!”

“I am thinking!”

In her annoyance, she almost didn’t notice her hand tugging on her left earlobe. She looked at her hand, and remembered, I tugged my left earlobe. She did it again. Nothing. This time, she tugged her right earlobe. Pop!

She was full-size, sitting on the counter in her favorite purple pajamas. Piper and her mom just looked at each other, worried. They had both heard it: her father lumbering down the hall towards the kitchen. He was not going to be happy…

 

Blackbird

It was a bright and sunny afternoon. Suddenly, thunderstorms brewed. It was not the weather; it was the mood in the Williams’ house. A big fight between Lucy William’s parents caused dark, gray clouds to hover over the house. It ominously ended with her father slamming the door to their house.  

As soon the door closed, Lucy rushed downstairs as fast as a lightning bolt.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Since your father is such a horrible person, we are getting a divorce.”

“Oh,” Lucy said sadly and ran up to her room. “Great!” She plopped on the bed, burying her head into her pillow, tear-stained tissues strewn around her. “What should I do?”  

Lucy was used to her parents, Martha and Michael, fighting all the time. They were so different. For one thing, her mother was so sensitive and prone to childlike tantrums. Her ginger-haired dad was so overwhelming and a busybody. Lucy had known that they would get a divorce one day, but it was still a surprise. Whenever her parents fought, it sounded like they were using a huge megaphone.  

Okay, she thought, how does this change my life? Do I tell anyone at school? Wait… I do not have any friends or family to tell. Everyone thinks that I am just a pack animal who they can take advantage of. I might as well be a donkey. Today is Tuesday… three more days of torture before the weekend.

Thinking about the song “Blackbird” by the Beatles, Lucy reflected on her life. She felt as if the song resembled her life. If only I could take these broken wings and learn to fly.  However, I cannot fly.  Oh, well, I might as well do the homework for tomorrow.

She fiddled with her straight, dark hair while reading her history book about the Cultural Revolution. People were forced to accommodate to Mao Zedong, China’s Communist leader. Lucy had to accommodate to her parent’s divorce.

“Ugh, I cannot focus. If only I had a friend. I could tell them things I usually keep to myself,” Lucy said to the silver-framed picture of her deceased grandparents. They had died in a car crash when she was four years old.  

“Now… I have a plan,” announced Lucy to the picture, “I will try to make a friend and just be myself.”

With that, she nodded triumphantly and finished her homework. She then reheated frozen macaroni and cheese in the kitchen for dinner. She also tossed a leafy green salad with ranch and little croutons. While she did this, her mother was in her room, contacting a lawyer. Lucy went upstairs to Martha’s room to give her a uniform tray of food with a little salad as a peace offering.  In response, Martha snapped at Lucy to go away.

As Lucy turned away, she rolled her eyes and went back downstairs to eat her own dinner in the kitchen. She cleared the table and washed the dishes. After that, she went to her room and fell asleep on her narrow bed, listening to the Beatles.

The next day, Lucy woke up with a sigh as the red alarm clock on her dresser beeped, alerting her that it was time to get up and go to school. Deciding to sneak past her mother and father, she changed into the usual uniform: a dark blue skirt, a white blouse, and black dress shoes. After packing her wheeled backpack with homework, she lugged it downstairs.  

While preparing her breakfast of steaming oatmeal and orange juice, she realized that her father had not come back from yesterday’s debacle.

Oh, well, she thought, one last parent to sneak past.

Just as she was about to leave, her Mother snuck up behind her.

“Where are you going?” she yelled into Lucy’s ear.

Wincing, Lucy said, “To school, of course. Where else?”

“Are you sure you are not going to skip school?”

“I think I know what I am doing.  Goodbye.” Lucy walked out to go to school while her mother stared in shock.

“This is not over,” Martha yelled.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Lucy thought, passing by Ms. Applegate’s green house.  

“Hey, girl,” Ms. Applegate yelled, a bit hard of hearing.

“Hello, Ms. Applegate,” Lucy muttered.

“What did you say, girl?”

“Hello! Now, goodbye.”

“Oh, you rude, girl, you rude.”

“Yeah, I guess I am changing,” Lucy said under her breath as she continued walking to school among the fresh evergreen trees.   

She finally reached the red brick building with a sign that said “Tenth Draft School.” Once inside, she sidled in her locker’s direction, trying to push through the crowds of people in the halls.  When she got there, she entered her combination code and started to take out of her books. Suddenly, the locker door slammed shut.  

Lucy turned around slowly, sighed and said, “What, Allison?”

Allison, a thin girl with pink hair, sneered, “Oh, look, it is the pack animal. Go join your relatives.”

“And my relatives are…”

“Just go over there,” Allison said, pointing across the hall to a girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She was clutching her books to her chest while leaning against the dented locker opposite of Lucy’s.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lucy said, opening her locker one last time. She finished taking her books out.  

“Go, already,” said Allison.

“Calm down, already,” said Lucy.

Lucy walked across the hall to join the girl as Allison walked away, joining her clique. She could smell lavender in the girl’s hair.

“Hi,” the girl whispered.

Oh, this is a perfect opportunity to make a friend, Lucy thought. “Hi, I am Lucy.  What is your name?”

“My name is Amelie. I am new. Is everyone here like… Allison… ?”

“Mostly. What was your other school like?

“Um, I did all the work for people in my class… but I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“Sorry, I do not really know how to talk to people. On a different note, what is your next class?  The bell will ring in three… two… one.”

The bell rang. Ring!

“I just came from the principal. Apparently, I have English next.”

“I have that, too. I will take you there.”

They walked to the English class in silence. As they entered the classroom, they found only one empty spot in the front of the room to the far left. There were four windows. The room was moderately-sized with a desk for the teacher, four tables with two chairs at each one, and posters with quotes from famous authors such as Shakespeare. The lemony smell of Lysol permeated the air.

“Well, there is only one place for us to sit. We should go sit there,” Amelie said.

They crossed the room and sat at the desk hesitantly. When the teacher, Ms. Robison entered, she had a surprise.

“Attention, class. We have entered a poetry contest where you write about a global issue. It is due tomorrow. You will work with the person at your table.”

The room came alive with boos and a few cheers. Amelie and Lucy looked at each other, smiled, and rolled their eyes.

“One last thing,” Ms. Robison said, “you will have time in class to work on it. Get started right now.”

“Okay. Lucy, what issues are you worried about?” asked Amelie.

“Um… I guess water pollution.”

“Me, too. I am really concerned about guinea worm. Even though the worm is in its final days, it once infected millions. People should know about it as it could occur in other developing countries,” Amelie said quickly.

“Well, we decided on a topic,” Lucy said.

Ring!

“Do you want to meet somewhere do to work on the poem?” asked Amelie.

I can speak so freely to Amelie, thought Lucy.

“Sure,” said Lucy, “ How about the library on Massachusetts Avenue at 5:00 pm? By the way, what class do you have next? The bell just rang.”

“I have Math and then Language.”

“I will show where you where Math is, but I need to go to Social Studies. Someone will show you the way to Language class.”

“Thanks.”

Lucy took Amelie to Math class and rushed to Social Studies. She got there just in time. Lucy thought about Amelie throughout her classes until lunch when they met again. They walked over to the swings with their lunches and started talking.

“How was your class?” Lucy asked as she bit into a mozzarella sandwich with ripe, red tomatoes.

“It was okay. I got homework but that is usual. However, Allison was in that class,” Amelie said. She was eating lasagna with tomato sauce.

“Well, that is that. Enough about school. What do you like to do?”

“I like to listen to music and cuddle with my tiny kitten, TomTom. I also read about world issues such as illiteracy, and musicians.”

“Two comments.  One, what do you like to listen to? Two, your kitten must be so cute.”

“Two answers. Beatles, even though it is old, and Adele.”

Ring!

“I like the Beatles, too. How come the bell rings when we are finally getting to know each other?”

“I do not know. Well, what class do you have next?”

“Music class. I will be learning how to play the acoustic guitar. After that, the library with you.”

“I am going to Music class, too. Let’s go.”

They walked off the playground together. Pushing through the students milling around the halls, they made their way to the small classroom. Soon realizing they were the only students, they sat in the chairs, waiting for the teacher. After waiting for a short while, a broad-bellied man called Mr. Harry ambled into the room, pushing past the piano.  

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to acoustic guitar. Does anybody already know how to play?” Mr. Harry said, passing each student a guitar.

“A bit,” said Amelie, strumming the chords.  

“Yeah, a bit. You are amazing!” Lucy said.

Throughout the class, Amelie entertained them with her skillful guitar playing.  

At the end, Mr. Harry said that Amelie might be able to receive a scholarship. Amelie grinned.

As Lucy and Amelie walked out of the room, they went back to the lockers and promptly took all of their stuff out. They walked down the steps to the school on their way to the library.

“Can we stop at my place first?” Amelie asked.

“Sure.”

They passed by oak trees, other colorful houses, and dogs yapping. Amelie and Lucy soon arrived at a well-to do home. Lucy waited outside while Amelie went in and got a newspaper article about guinea worms.

They walked to the old, white building called the “Bethesda Library.”

Inside, they passed endless rows of books and tables and found a table in the corner. They started by reviewing the Washington Post article called “The Dying Days of a Parasite that Once Infected Millions.”  

“So, what have you learned?” asked Lucy.

“That the guinea worm is close to being ‘wiped out’ but the final step of preventing it is tricky,” said Amelie.

“Do not forget that clean water is scarce in many countries.”

“I think we understand it now. Let’s start the poem.”

After many drafts, Lucy and Amelie composed a poem called “All That Water.” 

 

All That Water

 

Women gaze at their sleeping children,

hoping, praying.

that they will not succumb.

 

Fear clutches their stomachs,

soon replaced by dread as

their children, their babies,

cough that hacking cough.

 

The sounds of women, children, men

wailing in the night

as the guinea worm emerges.

 

Scavenging for wood that is scarce

and that abject poverty

cannot afford,

snapping off twigs,

tearing off leaves,

just to get to the bare wood,

still unable to boil the water.

 

Forced to drink from the source of life

that harbors the flaming serpent.

 

Water.

All that water that kills.

 

“Good job, Amelie,” Lucy said.

“Thanks. I have to go home,” Amelie said as she glanced at her watch.

“See you tomorrow.”

As Amelie walked out, Lucy smiled. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, she thought. She put the poem in her backpack. While walking out of the library of discovery, she remembered that she would be going to a shattered household.  

The sun was setting. Passing through the oak and evergreen trees and the silent houses in her neighborhood, she tried to sneak past Ms. Applegate. Unfortunately, no such luck.  

“Hey, girl!” shouted Ms. Applegate, rocking in a chair on her porch.

“Hello, Ms. Applegate. I have to go home, but I will see you later,” said Lucy.

“Why you so nice to me right now?”

“I am in a better mood than before. I made a friend.”

“Good.” Ms. Applegate went inside and Lucy continued on.

Finally, she reached her dreary house. She could see a “For Sale” sign planted in the freshly-turned soil. Rushing inside, she found her mother talking to her lawyer.  

“What is going on?” panted Lucy.

“We are selling this house. There are too many memories of your father.”

“Speaking of my father, where is he?”

“I do not know or care.”
“Where would we even move?”

“California to join my relatives.”

Lucy ran up to her room and collapsed onto her bed. Thoughts whirled around her head.

I have finally made a friend, and now my mother wants to move to California. My “broken wings” had flown. What will I tell Amelie? Should I choose not to move with my mother? Should I ask Amelie if I can stay with her? If I did, would she allow me to? I do not have her phone number or email. What do I do? Okay. I will ask Amelie if I can stay with her while I sort my life. I am sure my mother can be without me for a few days.

As the sky was black and purple, she just went to bed. Lucy did not make dinner or talk to her mother. However, she did change, as usual.

The next day was gray and dismal. Lucy woke up and realized she had not set the alarm clock the previous day. She was late. Changing into her uniform, and packing her backpack was an ordeal. She had to be quick. Lucy snatched a granola bar, noticing the note on the door.  It said “I have gone to a hotel to sort out my thoughts. I will be back in two days. – Mother.”

Are you kidding me? Well, now I can go to Amelie’s, thought Lucy.

After exiting the house, she sprinted past Ms. Applegate’s, her wheeled backpack being hindered at every crack.  

Lucy arrived at Tenth Draft School and went to her locker. She could not see Amelie anywhere. Putting her books into her locker, she wondered where Amelie might be. Maybe she was already in class?

Ring!

Lucy started walking to Language Arts. When she arrived, she saw that Amelie was not there. Where could she be? Sitting down, she mused this over in her mind. Was there something about Amelie that she did not know?

Ms. Robison walked in. “Poems, please,” she said.

Lucy absentmindedly pulled the poem out of her book.

When Ms. Robison walked past and Lucy gave her the poem, she asked “Where is Amelie? Is she sick?”

“I do not know.”

Lucy did not see Amelie for the rest of the day. Nobody knew where Amelie was.

Where was Amelie?

 

Blue Room

          

The Sleeper by the Edge of the River

 

The water receives her.

 

every day her heart is open to the sound of waves.

always the same sound, the same deafening sound.

her everyday rhythms were coordinated by

the sounds of the waves,

till they filled the marrow in her bones

and she walked, unknowingly, to the beat of the waves

and she moved, unknowingly, to the beat of the waves.

 

she became like a conch shell, and

when you held her next to you,

you could feel her body

quivering with the movement of the waves.

 

the sleeper by the edge of the river….

she made a hammock of the silken water and

the reeds, threaded together to hang in the

night sky, while the latticework of stars above her

acted as a great blanket, because all the world was enveloping her

in bed.

 

my sleeper by the edge of the river.

She holds tiger lilies in her gaze.

 

*

 

she’s a face full of blooming buttercups,

her laugh deep and rich as

those heavy hazelnuts falling from the

hazelnut tree, twirling through the air and

landing on the ground with a soft

thump, impregnating the air with their

amorous ripeness.

her freckles are nutty and brown, the color of

plum blossom branches,

while the flush of her cheeks are like

plum blossoms themselves.

 

her tempestuous eyes hold

sea storms and gales,

men have drowned

and lost their ships,

fallen under those black waters

in those eyes

 

her skin’s fair as the cream from the

top of the bottle,

but she’s got hair black as the bottom of

the coffee pot.

i ran my hands through it once.

it was soft.

like spools of clouds being threaded.

 

she’s an enchantress, my muse, a

something-sweet secret

held high above others….

though, for me,

she brushes aside her billowing clouds of hair, and

hides love in the furrows of her sleeve.

 

Food Memories

 

Strawberry frosted donuts with rainbow sprinkles on top, eaten before going to the train store. Watching toy trains rush by on wooden tracks, licking the frosting from my fingers.

 

Long nights at the dining room table, suffering through the Passover Seder.

Each course drawn out and extended with prayer.

I only eat matzah with butter, several sheets of it, until my stomach aches.

 

Searching for the perfect hamburger, combination of juicy and charred.

Find my Holy Grail, a medium-well cheeseburger and fries, with a chocolate milkshake.

Order at Ted’s Bulletin, a restaurant nestled in Capitol Hill, secretly hiding fried fatty goodness.

 

Everything about the food in Paris.

The cheese, sharp and best paired with crunchy crackers.

Dark chocolate, melting into my mouth.

Buttery bread that unpeeled in layers, light and flaky.

 

Jewish food, passed down for generations.

My mom, like the matriarchs of old, spending hours preparing.

Noodle Kugel, steaming hot and topped with cinnamon. Served in slabs, thick and fattening. Recipes created before saturated fat and calories, when it was okay to add a stick of butter to a meal.

 

Buying popcorn and Snow Caps at Blockbuster’s, while searching for a DVD.

Looking at rows of Pez dispensers with cartoon characters’ heads on top.

Searching for which Push candy or Baby Bottle Pop I want, always deciding on the pinkest one, strawberry.

 

Stew Leonard’s in Danbury Connecticut.

Camp field trips ending with a stop at this gigantic grocery store with a buffet.

Piling carts with candy and chips, what I lacked at camp.

Getting steaming hot buffet food and hoping I have enough money to pay for my four pounds of mac and cheese.

 

Browsing the aisles of Hinata, the sushi shop my parents went to when I was little.

Looking for “boy and girl” cookies, chocolate pops with children faces on them.

Chewing several Pocky sticks at a time, the biscuit ends sticking out of my mouth.

 

New Year’s Eve 2005, ordering a fizzy pink Shirley Temple with my Chinese food.

Bubbles bouncing in my throat, popping like balloons.

Swearing to stay up until midnight, but falling asleep in the restaurant, my plate untouched.

 

Identified

             

a name

is your most personal possession,

identifying you.

perhaps you may share a name with another,

share an understanding.

a name is as much a part of you

as a fingerprint.

yours, unique,

or shared.

there is nothing wrong with shared.

allow your name to be spoken, whispered, shouted.

let your name describe you, become you,

all your own

even if it is shared.

shared is still yours.

your name belongs to you and belongs to

the people who know you by it.

a name defines you from everyone else.

there is nothing wrong with everyone else,

but your name makes you different,

or maybe similar.

after all, shared is fine.

so allow your name

to identify you.

because a

name

is your most personal possession.

 

Graceleaf

Yesterday, a pit of fire opened up below my family’s tent. In a moment, our entire life was swallowed up in a burst of flame. I rushed over to my former home, now a smoldering Hell pit. We didn’t have much inside — only clothing and a few daggers to ward off the imps at night. Still, my eyes filled with tears as I stared at the pit. When Mama came back from battle, she muttered curses under her breath and kicked at the dust.

Papa was still under the care of the healers, after the last battle fought in one of Hell’s countless plains. After I helped clean up, I flew to the makeshift hospital to see him. The camp zoomed past, an array of tents and shacks, and in the distance, officers’ barracks. Guards posted at the wall waved at me, and I recognized one.

“Flauros!” I hovered next to him. “How’s the shift?”

Flauros smiled, turning his gaze from the distance. “Well, I’ve seen dirt and a few tumbleweeds. No devils in sight,” he sighed.

“Aren’t they mad though, after the last fight?” I asked, looking out into the desert of Hell. The sky was a bloody smear across the red landscape. No demons marched over the horizon, brandishing swords. There was only the barren wasteland and the burning sun.

“The devils are still regrouping after the beating we gave them.”

I shivered, remembering the last battle. They had attacked at night, swarming over the walls. Devils wearing stinking furs and rusty armor, set fire to tents and soldiers. I hid in the officers’ barracks with the other children. With every burst of flame, another scream rang through the night. We huddled in the corner, silent. I wished that my sister, Laylah, was next to me, saying that it would be alright. But she and my older brothers were gone, stationed in a distant outpost.

By the time we emerged from the barracks at dawn, the cries of the wounded had died down. How many of us became orphans that night?

“Sorry about your dad,” Flauros said, when I looked down.

“It’s okay, he’ll be fine. Just a few scratches,” I said, not mentioning Papa’s delirious rambling and his rotting leg. At least he’s alive.

***

I lifted up the tent flap and ventured inside. The stench of blood and rot filled the air, and I tried not to gag. Injured soldiers groaned and cried out. I tried not to look at them, and stared at the ground. Healers tried to close bite wounds and repair charred skin, but it was no use. We all knew that the good healers — ones who mend shattered bones and grow new skin — were only for high-ranking angels. Papa lay on a stained blanket, healers bustling around him.

“Hey, Abaddon, how are you?” he said, propping himself up. His eyes glazed over. He stared in my direction, not really seeing. Papa’s feathers were ruffled and bent. I smoothed them down carefully.

“Fine, Dad. A Hell pit opened up under the tent,” I said, tucking the blankets around him.

“Hells! Again?”

“Is your leg alright?”

“Yeah, healing up nicely. I’ll be back in the fights before the week is up.” He grimaced. Thick bandages covered his leg, soaked through with dark blood.

A healer pulled me aside. She was from another rank, her robes a light, smooth blue. Her white wings glowed in the dim hospital tent. She smiled at me. I hated her, like I did angels of all other ranks. She didn’t care about us.

“Child, is your mother in the outpost?” she asked, her voice soft and lilting.

I crossed my arms. “She’s around.”

She sighed. “She has to come here now.”

“Why?”

“Your father is very sick. His leg needs to be removed before infection spreads.”

***

I hate the outpost. Red dust coats every surface — clothes, weapon, skin. It seeps into the water, until each drink tastes like copper. The bread is hard enough to crack teeth and tastes like it was tossed into the dirt.

Each day, soldiers battle devils. By nighttime, some return missing eyes, legs, wings. Devils lurk in the shadows, carrying clubs, swords, and spears. Beyond the outpost are untold horrors: lands crawling with monsters. I’ve heard stories that beyond the desert, there are more demons than ever seen near the outpost. Kings and warlords rule over the lands, each more terrifying than the last.

Life was hard, and devil attacks grew more frequent as time went on. When Mama and Papa were first stationed out here, no demons dared to approach. Now, it was getting worse.

My parents told me stories about Heaven at night, when the shadows descended on the camp, and the only light was from the campfire.

“Everything is beautiful, green everywhere,” my father said, as if in a daze.

“Are there trees? They have leaves and bark, right?” I asked. I imagined lying under a tree, resting in the shade. There was no rest in Hell. Only relentless heat, pounding down onto skin. “Why aren’t we in Heaven?” I asked.

Mama laughed bitterly, breaking the silence she held all night. “They don’t want us up there. We’re not pure enough,” she sneered.

“Hush.”

“Why encourage her silly dreams? Abaddon won’t escape this wretched pit, and neither will we.”

“Pa, have you ever been there?” I asked him.

“Once,” he said quietly. “The sky was such a nice color, a bright blue…”

***

Today was the battle. I kissed Mama on the cheek, where a jagged scar crossed her face. She was dressed in her armor, dented and dusty.

“Stay safe,” she whispered, as I hugged her. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and I remembered last night. It was dawn when Mama returned to our new tent, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Papa is alright, I repeated to myself. He is fine.

Mama turned her back and joined her company. I watched her from Flauros’ guard post as she disappeared into the desert. I sighed and turned away.

I hated this. Why did Mama and Papa and Laylah have to fight battles for the other angels? Soon, I would too. Mama said that soon, I would be drafted, when I came of age. She said they’d come to you, giant shining messengers with a thousand eyes. It’s scary at first, but then you can leave, leave the outpost where all soldier’s children live, leave the dreaded frontier, and maybe even see Heaven.

“Cheer up, Abby. Your Ma will be back soon,” Flauros said.

“I hope.”

Suddenly, more angels appeared a few feet away. I’d never seen anything like them before. Their golden armor gleamed in the sun, and wisps of flame floated from their wings. They carried fiery swords that radiated heat. They were beautiful. One turned and stared right at me.

“Those are Paragons. Don’t look at them,” Flauros said harshly.

“Why not?” I asked, glaring at him.

“Listen, don’t tell your ma I said this…”

“I’m not a child. I can handle it.” I looked for the Paragons again, but they were already gone.

“Well, Paragons are a… different type of angel. I don’t know too much, but before coming to this outpost, I saw some of them. In a devil village,” he said.

“And?”

“They set the village on fire. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he said and turned away.

***

“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked the healer, who was wrapping a fresh bandage around Papa’s leg. She shook her head, and looked away from me. I sighed and got up. Being in the tent was stifling, and each minute grew more stuffy. I patted Papa’s feathers and went outside for some air.

I plopped into the sand just as two angels hovered by. I looked up curiously. It was Captain Jael and the healer with blue robes, clutching an armful of yellowed scrolls.

“There has to be some way to help them,” she pleaded.

“Charmeine, this plant of yours is in the middle of devil territory. I’m not risking my troops for Graceleaf,” he said. Graceleaf? I’ve never heard of it before.

“It’s only fair that their wounds are healed too —”

He pushed past her roughly and flew away. Her shoulders drooped, and she finally noticed me.

“What’s Graceleaf?” I asked, standing up quickly.

“Did you hear everything?” Charmeine said, gripping the scrolls tightly.

I nodded. “Will it heal my dad’s leg?”

“Well, it’s just a story —”

“I can get it for you,” I said.

“Dear, you’re too young!” she said, frowning.

“I’m almost of age.”

“No, you need to stay here with your parents. Besides, the Captain forbids it.” She turned away and flew back into the hospital.

***

It wasn’t too hard to take her scrolls. She propped them on a mat with other medical supplies. She was busy mixing a salve and didn’t look up when I grabbed them. I hurried out of the tent and went to a secluded, shaded spot under the wall. I plopped down onto the sand, and unrolled the scrolls.

Strange, old Angelic runes were printed on the yellowed sheet, and I struggled to read them. Skimming the page, I eventually found Graceleaf listed.

Graceleaf – heals flesh wounds, blue leaves and thick stem, found in the Southern Barren Caves.

In another scroll was a detailed map.

***

My dagger was in its sheath, tied around my waist. My pack had a waterskin and some food in it. I hoped that this wouldn’t take long. I couldn’t stop thinking of all the horrors awaiting me — barbarian demons, fire pits and more. But I had to do this for Papa. What else could I do?

I pushed away a stone, revealing a hole in the wall, something I noticed long ago but never went through. It was tiny, but I fit. I squeezed through on my hands and knees, the rock scraping against my wings. I emerged outside, the sand already blowing hard. In front of me, Hell stretched out. I scanned the horizon for demons, but there were none that I could see.

It was disturbing being on the other side of the wall, like devils could attack at any moment. Hell seemed even bigger, its deserts stretching out in the far distance. I started flying. Every few minutes I saw a dented shield, chunk of armor, or broken sword. I had never been near the plains where angels and demons had fought for millennia; I’d only heard scattered stories from Mama and Papa.

Eventually, as the day became hotter, I needed to rest. I headed over to the shaded lip of a rock. I plopped down and drank slowly from my waterskin. Water washed over my parched throat, and I felt better.

***

The sun rose higher as the day went on. I traveled through vast plains and dried up river beds. Sweat dripped down my face, and I wiped it away quickly. My tunic clung to my skin, soaked through. I stopped at a stream and drank greedily from it, filling my bottle until it overflowed.

There were more strange sights as I traveled through Hell. Tiny red imps watched me from behind a rock, scattering when I turned around. In one plain was a black monolith, with strange markings on it. I looked closer at the squiggles and shapes. In its center was a drawing of a horned demon, bat wings stretched outwards in mid-flight. I turned away from the monument reluctantly, running my fingers over its smooth surface.

In another valley was a boiling pit of fire. Shadows waved from beneath the lava, and a strange whispering sound filled the air. So beautiful…

I moved on, past the lake of fire and onto the next ridge. As I crossed the crest of a hill, a valley opened beneath me. I gasped, bile rising in my throat. It was an abandoned battlefield. The dirt was stained with gore. Bodies rotted in the sun, their guts exposed by scavengers. Feathers, stuck to the rocks with clots of blood, were stained red. Angel and demon flags, tattered and worn, flapped in the breeze. The stench was horrific, a thousand times worse than the hospital tent. I vomited, and it splattered on a charred rock.

I threw up until there was nothing left in my stomach, trembling the entire time. Finally, I stood up shakily, tears running down my cheeks. It had been going so well, I had pretended this was just a trip. Now, all I could think about was Mama, facedown in the dirt, in a plain just like this one, never coming back. What if she was here, in this battlefield?

I stood there for a moment, not looking away from the ground. If I saw the battlefield one more time, I might never leave. Slowly, I flew forward, wiping the tears from my face. No matter how scared I became, I would remember why I was doing this, for Papa.

I went away from the battlefield, forever burned into my mind, and I approached a cave. It was dark inside, and I paused for a moment.

I took a few steps, the sand growing cool against my sandals. Another step and I was enveloped in darkness. But in the distance, something glowed on the cave walls. I flew forward and sighed with relief. A plant glowed, tethered to the walls. I could now see my surroundings and looked around. The cave was vast and chilly. Several different entrances were scattered around the cavern.

I flew through the tunnel. Water droplets dripped onto my head and my hands grazed moss on the walls. I heard the sound of trickling water against stone in the distance. Finally, I emerged into a natural cavern. The stream ran through, carrying clear water. An array of plants grew along the stream’s banks, glowing in the darkness.

The Graceleaf had vibrant blue leaves, I remembered. I flew over to the herb. It sprouted through the cool cavern mud, glowing a light blue. I pulled one plant out, its roots pale and dangling. I took all the sprigs I could find, and placed them in my bag carefully. I smiled and thought of Papa. His ugly gashes would close up and he wouldn’t have to lose his leg! The extra Graceleaf could help the others injured.

Time to go It’s getting dark, I thought. I hurried through the cave and back outside. It was already late afternoon, and the sun would set soon. I didn’t think of the monument, or the lake, or even the battlefield. Just the hospital and Papa.

As I entered a plain, there was the sound of flapping wings, and I hid behind a rock. Voices in the Abyssal language, rang out. I peered out carefully. There were two demons herding a crowd of scaly brown creatures. One was a young girl, the other, an older man, both with crimson skin.  I slowly got up and backed away until my foot slipped, and I fell onto the ground. The demons turned around and looked at me.  

I froze as they came closer and said something in Abyssal. The girl flew closer to me and reached out her hand. I took it reluctantly, and she helped me up.

“Are you really an angel?” she said, in accented Angelic. I nodded slowly, and she beamed, her black bat wings flapping. “Wow!” She reached out and touched my feathers. The other demon — her father I guess — looked at me distrustfully. He put an arm around the girl and pulled her back.

“Where is the outpost?” I asked. The girl cocked her head. She whispered into her father’s ear, then turned back to me.

“Over that hill,” she said and pointed at a spot to the left.

Before I flew away, she asked, “Is the sky blue in Heaven?”

I looked at her hopeful face and remembered what Papa said. “Yes,” I said and flew away. Behind me, the girl waved until I disappeared behind a dune.

***

The sun was almost completely gone by the time I saw the gates. The guard at post saw me in the distance and flew towards me. It was Flauros. “Abby, what happened? The camp was looking for you,” he said furiously. Then he hugged me.

“I’m fine, but I need to see Papa now,” I said, my face turning red, and I wriggled out of his grasp.

I flew past him and through the camp, people calling out my name. I ignored them and headed directly to the hospital. I rushed into the tent, and flew toward Papa. He was sleeping on a blanket, his feverish, red face relaxed. Charmeine was redressing his wounds and looked up when I entered.

“Where were you? You didn’t — ” I pulled a sprig of Graceleaf from my bag. She gasped and said, ”You went by yourself?”

I asked, “Can you heal Papa now?” Charmeine’s face went white, but she nodded. She took the sprig and began to mix the poultice.

“Where is she?” I heard from outside the tent, and Mama rushed in. She hugged me tightly, her face wet with tears. “I thought you were dead,” she said furiously. Her armor was still coated in dust from the day’s battle, and a bandage was wrapped around her arm.

“I’m fine, but Papa needs to be healed,” I said and looked over at Charmeine. She finished mixing the herb in a bowl, now a gooey blue substance. Carefully, she dipped her fingers into the mixture and applied it to Papa’s wounds. We watched as the rotten gashes in his leg closed, formed into angry red scars, which faded to pink, then white, then finally disappeared.

***

Flauros and I sat at the guard post. By noon, it was already a scorching day, and I wiped sweat from my face.

The past few days had been hectic. I was glad I wasn’t punished much for leaving the outpost, besides helping Charmeine with the Graceleaf garden. After Mama had a talk with him, Captain Jael suddenly retracted his threats to expel me from the outpost. Officials from Zion, Heaven’s capital city, visited, too. Wearing shiny armor and flowing robes unsuited to the desert, they gawked at the Graceleaf and how it healed every soldier in the outpost.

Earlier today, one of the Paragons approached me. Her armor hissing with smoke, she removed her golden helmet to reveal cold, yellow eyes. “Abaddon Brightsword?” she asked as I stood up from the Graceleaf I was watering. I looked at her, my eyes widening. Waves of heat rolled off of her, hotter than the desert air. “You’re an excellent candidate to become a Paragon. Don’t waste it by talking to devils.”

With that, she flew away, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake. How did she know that I talked to the demon girl and her father?

“How’s the garden going?” Flauros said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Hard to keep it watered, but we have volunteers,” I said, swinging my legs.

“What about your Pa?”

“He’s feeling much better. Should be ready to fight soon,” I said glumly. In a few days, Papa would be gone again. Hopefully, the Graceleaf would save him and the other soldiers sent to fight in this pointless war. Maybe Laylah would be safe too.

“Why so sad, Abby? You saved us,” Flauros said, wrinkling his brow.

“I’m not sad. Just thinking,” I said, looking at Hell’s horizon. The sky was such a nice color…

 

***

Epilogue

The cherub appeared at dawn. I stood, trembling in my new sandals. Mama and I had stayed up through the night to prepare, packing my bag and finding a clean tunic. She had even tried to mat down my curly hair with water, which hadn’t worked. Mama and Papa both fluttered behind me, their faces nervous.


It touched down. A thousand golden eyes blinked from the canvas of its crisp white wings.


“Abaddon Brightsword,” it stated. I clutched my bag tightly and flew forward. “You are chosen for duty in Purgatory.”

Mama gasped. Wasn’t that where Laylah was stationed? We’d stopped hearing from her a few months ago, when the devil attacks had grown more fierce.

I turned around and eyes filling with tears, hugged my parents. “Stay safe,” I told them.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” Papa said.

“We love you.” Mama wiped away tears and pulled away. She rifled through a pocket and pulled out her dagger, in its worn leather sheath. She pressed it into my hands.

“Mama… ”

“You will be a fine soldier,” she said, and Papa nodded.

I turned my back on them and put the dagger in my belt.

“I’m ready,” I said to the cherub. A white, soft wing unfolded and wrapped around my body. The cherub took off, and I watched my parents’ forms grow small until they disappeared entirely.

 

Ilse in America

Part Eins

The train squeaks; it needs to be oiled soon. It lurches into motion, and Ilse tightens her hold on her small, little knapsack. Her cap, a woolen, ratty, brown one that her mother knitted for her, almost falls off her head, and she pushes it back as she staggers to get a steady grip on one of the balance poles.

Through foggy glass, Ilse can see the station sign on a bar on the platform: Berlin Friedrichstraße. This will be her last look at this station — her last look at Germany, her home — for quite a while.

Her stomach seems to go in loops, and her eyes blur as the back of her throat burns with sorrowful tears. It’s her home, Germany, and while she would not like to admit it, Germany isn’t safe for girls like her anymore, for people like her anymore…

Ilse wishes her parents, her Mother and Father, were coming, so they could be safe too. All people like her are being persecuted, oppressed, killed. Just due to their Jewishness.

Es ist das ganze Führer schuld (It’s all the Fuhrer’s fault), she thinks in German grudgingly, as she cannot speak English. Er ist der grund, warum ich meine familie verlassen! (He is the reason I have to leave my family!)

The train is moving steadily now, and Ilse looks frantically out the foggy window, searching for a last trace of her parents. It might very well be the last time she ever sees them. For it is 1939. The war is starting, and the Third Reich is looking for Jews to kill, to send away, to abuse. And she has to leave her country, her Germany, without her parents because it isn’t safe anymore.

“Wir kommen und holen sie, sobald wir aus Deutschland bekommen können,” (We will come and get you as soon as we can get out of Germany) they said to her, just last night, as she packed only a few necessities into her knapsack. “Dann können wir sicher in Österreich leben, nur um die drei von uns, ohne sorgen.” (Then we can live safely in Austria, just the three of us, with no worries.)

Ilse accepted and argued no further. But she could not help the thoughts that swirled into her head. Aber ich will nicht alle von meinem einsamen, nach Österreich zu gehen, bis sie leben mit mir kommen können. Was ist, wenn meine neue mutter nicht gut ist? Was ist, wenn sie nicht aus Deutschland kommen? Was passiert, wenn du dich selbst getötet hat? Und was ist Österreich ist wie hier, Deutschland, wo Juden ducken müssen und zu verstecken? Was geschieht, wenn wir sterben? Was wäre wenn… (But I don’t want to go to Austria all by my lonesome until you can come live with me. What if my new mother isn’t kind? What if you can’t get out of Germany? What if you’re even killed? And what if Austria is just like here, Germany, where Jews must cower and hide? What if we die? What if…)

She sees them, just under the station sign. It’s hard to in a sea of parents who also bid their children goodbye. But there’s no mistaking her mother’s chestnut hair and her father’s ocean blue eyes, both of which she inherited.

More tears spread to her eyes, and everything seems to sink in another layer. She’s leaving Berlin, her home for all her fourteen years. She’s leaving Liesl, her Lutheran best friend who also hated Nazis and what they were doing to the Jews and others of the country. She’s leaving her parents. She’s leaving her life, which is now rolled up in a big, three-hundred millimeter knapsack, jumbled up and uncertain. She’s going to Austria, a country she has only heard tales of, where they at least speak German so she’ll understand people, but she will be an outsider, looking in on a nation holding hands in a circle. She will just be that little Jewish girl in the corner.

She stands at the window, now hysterically sobbing, saying her farewells as her parents struggle against the crowd to come to the window and touch her hand for the last time in a while. But it’s too hard, and the train pulls away, leaving her parents at the wrath of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis.

Many children sit on the train as well, varying in age, color, and gender. But they all have the same reason for leaving and the same destination. This seems to give them a strange, tragic bond.

Ilse sees a short, blonde girl of around eight, her hair ratty, her face so dirty that her tears form clear streaks on her face. Ilse’s heart wrenches as she sees the four other kids following her, all mirror images of her, obviously siblings. It hurts her that a girl of such young age is now entrusted with the whole of her very large family.

For some reason, she feels guilty of her lack of siblings. She, Ilse Rosen, has always been an only child, so does not carry the burden of siblings. This seems to make her even more sad, being around this broken family of five, and she walks to the back of the car to find another pole; the seats are all taken.

Ilse tucks one of her two chestnut braids behind her ear under the cap, which is beginning to fall apart at the seams. She blinks her blue eyes and fiddles with her necklace, a talisman of her religion with a tiny Torah inside of it.

Too many people crowd the windows for her to see out of them; so she settles against the pole, feeling the cold metal against her skin.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep, but all of a sudden, she jolts awake. It’s later in the day, and she can tell she isn’t in Germany anymore; a sign on a train platform reads “Wien Westbahnhof.” She has arrived in Austria.

The train is abuzz with motion, voices, and — for some reason — shouts and yells. Confused, Ilse turns back to the window —

— and it speeds away from the platform.

Ilse starts to panic. Her mind seems to go numb, wondering what just happened.

She was supposed to go to Austria, was she not? And the whole of the train? So why are they pulling away from the train station she has a ticket for?

The little, blonde girl she saw earlier stands next to her, keeping close watch on the little ones. She seems fairly calm — maybe she knows what is happening?

“Was ist los? Wohin gehen wir?” (What’s happening? Where are we going?) Ilse asks the girl, trying to keep the note of fear out of her voice.

“Hast du nicht gehört?” (Did you not hear) replies the girl. “Österreich wurde gestern abend überfallen. Die Nazis sind jetzt da. Juden — sie suchten wir sie. Es ist wie Deutschland. Wir gehen nach Amerika statt, glaube ich.” (Austria was invaded last night. The Nazis are there now. Jews — they’re being looked for. It’s like Germany. We’re going to America instead, I think.)

In that moment, it feels as if Ilse’s life is over. America? America? A whole continent away? Where they don’t speak German? Where Ilse will be having her temporary family?

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No!

She succumbs to tears as the train speeds on.

 

Part Zwei

The next few days are a blur of travel for Ilse. Planes, boats, automobiles, a jumble of English words she cannot understand. People crowd the boat she’s on to get to where she’s going — Ellis Island, New York.

But then she pulls into the dock. There’s a large line full of other refugees, and there’s a tall woman with a clipboard. She reads off names of children.

Finally, she calls “Annie Johnson and Ilse Rosen?”

Ilse stands there awkwardly, until two women — one mother, one daughter — come and take her away. She guesses they are her foster family. The older woman smiles at her, the younger scowls and steps on Ilse’s foot as they walk away from the dock.

Ilse looks back to the ship she’s just left. There’s a big, green statue of a woman holding a torch of some sort. It fascinates Ilse. What is it?

She runs to an automobile, tagging along beside her foster mother (Annie: a tall, white woman with short, curly, blonde hair and yellow-amber eyes) and her foster sister (Mary Jane: a fifteen-year-old girl with the same looks as her mother, except she looks very annoyed by Ilse.)

She gets in the car and buckles her seatbelt. Ilse smiles sadly, remembering her parents’ automobile and how they used to drive all over Berlin. Her parents! Do they know she’s not in Austria? Are they okay?
“All right, sweetie,” says Annie, looking back at Ilse with a warm smile. In English, oh no, English, Ilse can’t understand, oh no! “We’re going to the end of Long Island, okay? Do you know what that is?”

Ilse tells Annie she cannot understand. “Ich kann nicht verstehen irh Englisch.” (I cannot understand your English)

Annie furrows her eyebrows, not understanding Ilse either. Mary Jane laughs. Ilse has a bad feeling about that — is Mary Jane laughing at her?

Oh, das wird Spaß machen, wenn meine eigenen Familienmitglieder gemein zu mir sind. Mutter, Vater, wo bist du jetzt? (Oh, this is going to be fun when my own family members are mean to me. Mother, Father, where are you now?)

***

The next day is Ilse’s first day of school, at least in America. She figures out that she and Mary Jane are the same age, so they will be in the same classroom. Ilse doesn’t quite know how to feel about this. Will Mary Jane be nasty to her at school as well?

New York City, where Ilse is, is a giant, majestic, beautiful, and very busy city. But they all speak English. It’s exactly like she imagined — Ilse is an outsider.

Ilse sits down at her desk, next to Mary Jane, who instantly moves away. Mary Jane begins to gossip in English with her friends. Ilse grudgingly thinks that the girls are talking about her, as they keep staring and laughing at her.

Finally, class commences. The teacher is a short, fat woman called Mrs. Waldon. She looks very strict with a slight unibrow, beady eyes, and a sharp nose. She wears a pink blazer, a white button-down, and a matching pink skirt.

“Good morning, class,” says Mrs. Waldon.

“Good morning, Mrs. Waldon,” the class chants in unison. Should Ilse say something too? Puzzled, she tries to imitate their sound.

“Gud mohrneng, Meesus Weldan,” she says loudly.

Some kid at the back whispers “I hope she thinks Mrs. Waldon is fat.” Wow, what a compliment to the teacher! Or, at least, she thinks it’s a compliment. But she decides to imitate the statement anyway.

“I sinke dat uoo ar efat,” she says, proud that she can imitate English.

Mrs. Waldon goes bright red and looks murderous as the class cackles in laughter. Mrs. Waldon marches to her desk, picks up a long, flat wand, and raps Ilse on the back of her hand, leaving an angry wound.

Ilse, just as angry now, whispers “Saukerl,” (Bastard) the only curse word she dares speak.

“What did you say?” demands Mrs. Waldon.

Ilse decides that maybe she will benefit from imitating the teacher. “Vwaat deed uooo seay?”

The teacher turns purple and looks as if she will hit Ilse again when Mary Jane speaks.

“She doesn’t know English,” Mary Jane says quietly. “Don’t blame her, she just is imitating sound.”

Ilse isn’t sure if Mary Jane has said something good or bad, but she feels grateful when Mrs. Waldon lowers her wand.

“Not even a syllable?” Mrs. Waldon asks Mary Jane.

“No,” Mary Jane replies.

“Then she will have to go to the kindergarten and learn the alphabet,” says Mrs. Waldon decisively.

The class now roars with laughter for reasons she cannot understand. But then, something clicks in her brain.

Kindergarten? It’s a German word. And that’s where the little ones go to to learn the alphabet and numbers.

Oh, no! Oh, no, oh no, oh no!

Ilse can’t go to kindergarten, she just can’t! She’s fourteen, not five! She covers her eyes with her hands, feeling hot tears leak out of them, and sobs very loudly. She sobs so loudly that the sound bounces along the classroom walls, and everyone moans and stops laughing.

“Oh, for God’s sake, shut up, will ya?” says the voice of the boy who Ilse imitated. He walks in front of her desk, scowling, and then kicks her foot under the table.

Mary Jane laughs and sidles up next to him.

“Saukerl!” Ilse screeches, and spits on his shoes.

“Hey!” the boy shouts. “What does that even mean? And oh my god, how dare a Jewish girl spit on my shoes!”

She understands the word “Jewish” and the message this boy is trying to convey. The tears pouring down her cheeks are full of rage now, positive hatred and rage. She kicks him.

The boy starts toward her and pulls one of her braids very hard. Ilse howls and kicks, kicks at everything on him, toes flailing, until he stops.

“Thomas,” Mary Jane is saying, flushed and slightly upset. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her mouth points downward a little bit. “Stop it!”

Thomas lets go of Ilse, sneers at her, and walks back to his desk. Mary Jane glares at Ilse and then walks back to her desk as well.

It bothers Ilse that the teacher saw none of this happen. She’s telling the principal that Ilse must go to the kindergarten.

This day is not starting out well.

Finally, Mrs. Waldon comes back and drags Ilse outside of the building, which is called M.S. 181. They walk for a very long time, until they stop at P.S. 285.

Mrs. Waldon drops Ilse off at the first room on the right, Kindergarten #1. It’s a cold and immaculate room with several tables, a large desk and a bookshelf, and the cursive and regular alphabet tacked up to the wall.

Ilse sees many small, rowdy kids, and flushes in embarrassment. She doesn’t belong here, right now, in this room.

A tall, lean, ugly woman walks up to Ilse. “Helllllooooo,” she drawls. “Whaaaaat isss yoooour naaaaame?”

So she thinks talking slowly will help Ilse understand? Ilse feels white-hot anger prickle at her skin and insides.

The woman walks to the wall and points at the letter “A.”

“Aaaaay,” she says. “Aaaaaay foooorrrr aaaapppleeeee,”

Ilse moans and puts her head in her hands.

***

Finally! Finally, finally, the day is over!

Ilse has left kindergarten nowhere close to learning English, so she guesses she will be back there tomorrow. But at the moment, Ilse doesn’t care. She’s free!

But she’s lost in the alleys near P.S. 285, which isn’t good. She tentatively takes another step, hoping to find Mary Jane or a way home.

All of a sudden, her head bashes into the brick wall, hard. She swears she can see stars, but when her vision clears, she sees the face of Thomas, who has turned her around and is pressing her against the wall. His friends are behind him — including Mary Jane — laughing and giggling. Her heart sinks. But when she looks at Mary Jane again, Mary Jane looks positively uncomfortable with her mouth in a straight line. Is she feeling remorse?

Ilse squirms and tries to yell, but Thomas covers her mouth.

“How was the little Jew in kindergarten today?” he sneers.

Ilse screams, muffled against his hand.

“Talk to me! Did you have fun kicking me earlier today, huh?” Thomas shouts.

“No!” Ilse pleads, using the only English word she knows.

“Now I’m going to return the favor!” Thomas releases Ilse, and she falls to the ground. Ilse wills herself not to cry.

“You’ve gone too far!” gasps a voice.

Another boy pins her down by her feet as Thomas kicks her in the gut.

“Stop it!” yells Mary Jane, the voice she’s just heard, as Thomas kicks Ilse again. Mary Jane pries Thomas away.

Thomas stops kicking Ilse, as Mary Jane pleads. “Don’t kick her like that! Can’t you tell you made her angry before? You had no right to insult her religion!”

“Whose side are you on?” Thomas asks in disgust.

“Not yours!”

Ilse can’t understand this conversation, but she does know that Mary Jane just stuck up for her, and she is grateful. Mary Jane grabs Ilse’s hand and pulls her along. Thomas tries to grab Ilse back, but settles for a last kick on her lower back as the girls walk away.

They walk in silence for a while as they get toward home.

“Danke,” Ilse says, and Mary Jane seems to understand.

“You’ve got to learn English, girl.”

   

Part Drei

The next few weeks, Ilse doesn’t have to go to kindergarten. Because Mary Jane stays up half the night with her, teaching her English, and it works. They find alphabet books, and Mary Jane goes over each letter and word with Ilse until she understands. Ilse can now speak pretty fluently!

She’s glad she opened up to Mary Jane and accepted her help.

It’s May now, and Ilse sits down at her desk in Mrs. Waldon’s room.

“Good morning, class,” says Mrs. Waldon.

“Good morning, Mrs. Waldon,” smiles Ilse.

“Ilse, would you please pass out the new schedules for the fourth quarter?” Mrs. Walden asks politely.

Ilse’s smile is very wide, proud that she can speak English. “Yes, ma’am.”

So that makes her feel very proud, but the thing that makes her the most proud?

The day after she learned how to, she walked up to Thomas with Mary Jane. “You asked what it meant.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Speak English now, do you?”

“Yes. You asked what ‘Saukerl’ meant, and I am going to tell you,” Ilse said with a smirk. “It means ‘bastard’. Seems to fit you, does it not?”

She left him with his mouth dropped open.

Ilse feels glorified. She fits into America, she speaks English, and she has a friend whom she can fight bullies with. She misses Germany and her home and family, but for right now, she is happy in America.

Ilse in America, she thinks to herself now, passing around the schedules. Who woulda thunk?

 

The Beautiful Observer

I am an observer. I am not a participator. Chuck O’Malley is the participator. I think that was the root of the collision.

“That’s right, sir!” a well-fed smile informed me. “Just straight-up coffee and lattés.”

“So you don’t serve frappuccinos? Of any kind?”

“No, sir.” The cashier leaned into me, her eyes twinkling as if she could be telling me the location of some secret treasure. “But I can get the latté iced for you, if you want.”

I rolled my eyes and moodily produced my wallet. It was embarrassingly tattered. Needed to be replaced. I made a mental note. “Fine. How much is that?”

“The what?”

“The bow in your hair,” I snapped sarcastically. The corners of the cashier’s mouth suddenly flipped quite the opposite direction, and her sausage-like fingers shot up and fumbled with the frighteningly pink ribbon they found there. I sighed. “No, the iced latté.”

The smile was back. “Three twenty-five, sir.”

I had moved to Milton two days ago. It was named after the author, of course. I couldn’t have approved of the decision more, for to me, the town was truly a Paradise Lost. Four years of university education for a cramped apartment in a spot I had only been able to find on one map (and that was in the visitors’ center).

Oh, yes, I’d found a way to pay off my student loans. The blog paid for those. But living in New York? Aye, there’s the rub. So, I had moved to Milton. I had settled in my apartment, and I had bought a latté.

I trudged away from the counter and found a comfortable spot near the window, far from humanity. I opened my laptop and allowed the blue glow of the screen to wash over my face. I scanned the words that greeted me there.

Anonymously Collins

That was me— or rather, my blog. I had christened it as such, hoping there would be enough Collins’ at university to disguise my identity as Henry Collins, the guy who never scored a touchdown but scored a million followers and ten sponsors instead.

I began to type.

“Hiya.” It was a curious figure who interrupted the flawless, rhythmic tapping of my fingertips against the keys. I had been in perfect flow, relaying the recent stupidity of my cashier and artistically declaring my opinion on the declining employee standards of 21st century America. “Chuck O’Malley, at your service.” A large, expectant hand was suspended right in front of my nose, blocking my view of the words I was typing. It was hairy— very hairy; a wart-speckled lump of rough, weathered skin, smelling of mustard and smoke. There was no avoiding it. I met his gaze.

“Henry.”

I almost felt sorry for him. The contrast between our two expressions could not have been more apparent. His smile was almost as big as his hand. I knew mine was nonexistent. His face reminded me of a bulldog’s, wrinkled and dimpled and splotched in almost every area possible, likely out of the pure exertion of maintaining such enthusiasm for existence. I expected mine looked more like a Chihuahua’s.

“Henry. Good name. New around here, aren’t you?”

I silently prayed a disinterested grunt would suffice to move him away.

It didn’t.

“You know,” he announced, pulling up a chair and plopping himself down across from me, “I once saved the life of a man named Henry.”

With all the subtlety I could muster, I attempted to catch the eye of a sympathetic employee. The cashier was thoroughly engrossed in picking a new song for the shop’s playlist. I made a mental note to report this once I was comfortably separated from the situation.

“Yup. See, I was walking down a bridge one night—  dark and horrid old place to begin with, only one working lamp on the thing, and even that was flickering.”

I sipped my latté. It tasted like smoke and mustard.

“Well, I see a blur I knew wasn’t usually there. Now, I’ll be the first to tell you I have the eyesight of a blind possum, but I says to myself, ‘That blur sure as hell looks just like the shape of a man!’ So I walk a little further. And, by God, it was a man. He was standing on the rail of the bridge, shakin’ and quiverin’, like one of them vibrating toys the ladies use. You’re a smart looking man, so you know that can only mean one thing.” He was still smiling, displaying each yellow tooth with ardent pride. This struck me as odd, considering the gravity of the account.

“So I start walking over to him. But Henry, I swear to you, the minute I put my foot down, the bastard jumps! Now I’m not the type to give up an’ call it quits just like that, no sir. I run down the side of that bridge, ripping my shirt and belt off and probably lookin’ like a chased chicken, and I plunge right into that icy cold water. You ever sat on a glacier, Henry?”

I shook my head.

“Well, lemme tell you, my ass was half frozen sitting on them glaciers in Alaska, but it was full frozen that night.”

Chuck continued to expound upon his adventure with an intriguing combination of verbal dramatics and charades. He showed me the stroke he used to reach the drowning citizen, held up my arm to visually express the depth of the water, and even roped an unassuming chair into the business by trapping it under his bulging arm to represent the position of the man as he was dragged to shore.

I did not know whether to be profoundly impressed or excusably repelled. It was a fascinating spectacle, this man, with his mid-air freestyle and unapologetic clichés. His eyes were almost glass-like; the faded kind you find by the sea. They sparkled under the haze of his age as the story intensified, a mixture of youth and decay I had scarcely seen in any other human being.

As the narrative came to a close, I found myself not quite as relieved as I had previously anticipated, but, rather, invigorated— launched into a new direction. Our conversation dwindled, I made my excuses with as much tact as possible, and we said our goodbyes.

***

The curiosity was that, after receiving a large amount of success in school, my blog had recently begun to decline due to internet trolls. These unidentified critics had taken upon themselves the duty of reminding me in the comments of every post that not everyone was interested in complaint articles— that the rest of the world wanted good news; a hero to root for, a champion. I had not found many of these in my experience, nor was I a fiction writer, therefore I had thoroughly disregarded these comments… and the sponsor notes… and the rapidly declining number of followers. But Chuck was a champion— a real-life, down-to-earth hero. His story could be the post I needed— perhaps the one that would get me back to New York.

I saved my draft and returned to the charming cashier. She had taken to blowing bubbles nearly as large as her face with her pink gum, loudly smacking it between attempts.

“Do you know that guy?” I whispered, producing a blue notebook and a ballpoint pen from my pocket. Carefully hiding it under the counter, I scribbled out a brief overview of Chuck’s story while awaiting her response (she had been mid-bubble).

“Of course I know him.” She finally chomped. “That’s Chuck. He comes here all day, every day.”

“Does he?” I mused, hardly interested in his daily schedule. “And do you know anything about this rescue he performed? The suicide incident? You did see him perform it for me, didn’t you?”

“Oh, I saw him. He does carry on.”

I chuckled.

“I see you’re a cynic, too. But really, you don’t believe him?”

“Do you?”

Her round, pale hand was pointing to another customer who had been sitting alone in the opposite corner of the shop. I say “had been” because he was quite the opposite of alone just now. Chuck was positioned directly across from him, standing on a chair, yelling down at some unseen damsel supposedly trapped in a cavern below. He then proceeded to jump off the chair, retrieve a stray cup lying on the ground, lasso the top of the chair with a mimed rope and hoist himself up onto it again. Then, with a flourish, he plunked the plastic cup back down on the table and triumphantly declared, “And that’s how I rescued her!” The man in the opposite corner sighed and warily returned to his reading.

“Are you saying he tells these stories to everyone who walks in?” I gawked. Being a man of the world, I considered myself the least likely person to underestimate the extent of human flaw, but this was a phenomenon I could never have anticipated.

The cashier nodded mournfully. “Different story every time. Always some sort of rescue, like he’s the town hero. I expect he’ll be wanting us to make him mayor before long.”

“Well, it’s certainly bad from a business standpoint,” I grunted, stuffing my notebook and pen back into my pocket in a decidedly deflated manner. “He has to be deterring customers. I know I won’t be coming back. Why don’t you kick him out?”

“Boss’ rules. I keep tryin’ to tell her, but she always says we can’t turn out Chuck. Sometimes I wonder if she’s taken a fancy to him.”

“Not likely,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose at having just caught a stray whiff of smoke and mustard.

I published my cashier post that night. The usual comments, naturally ensued. I was steadfastly determined not to return to Miss B’s Coffee House, mainly to press the point that inaction would inevitably deter customers, but somehow the idea of Chuck would not escape my mind. He was useless as an article subject (the one thing worse than the absence of a hero is a fake hero), yet nevertheless the mere fact of his existence and the questions that he raised relentlessly taunted my brain. Why did he spend every day of his life at a coffee shop from dawn to dusk? Was there any truth to his unfathomable tales? And, most irritating of all, what was his motive?

It was either these questions or the incessant banging of my upstairs neighbors that kept me awake and sweating in my bed that night.

***

About five o’clock the next evening, I found myself returned to precisely the same table in Miss B’s Coffee House. Apparently, in a battle between a stubborn boycott and the ties of curiosity, curiosity will, inevitably prevail.

I regretted it the moment I sat down.

“Henry!” He announced my presence with a boisterous cry and a charismatic embrace. “You still carrying that computer around? What are you, some kind of spy?”

“Almost.” I smiled feebly. “I’m a blogger.” The twinkle in his eye had suddenly been snuffed out and replaced by a look of stunned confusion. “I write articles and post them online.” Still no signs of comprehension. “On the computer.”

In a flash of revelation, the glint was restored. I secretly welcomed its return. “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he mirthfully snorted. “Now, Henry, I’ve got just the story for your next little computer article. See, a few years ago I found a nice looking young lady, probably no more than sixteen years old, caught up in a nail right in the middle of a railroad track…”

A miniature woman— no more than five feet, and furnished with a pristine, black bun deliberately knotted atop her dainty head— had emerged from the back of the store and was speaking to the young cashier in a firm, adamant voice.

“Miss B?” I called out, hardly knowing why. I rose from my seat and left Chuck to carry the teenager-on-a-train-track story to his next victim. She did not acknowledge my presence until just before retreating into the back room.

“Yes?”

I knew it had been her. Something about that fastidious bun had screamed the name to me. “Henry Collins.” I offered my hand and most trustworthy smile. She shook the hand, but seemed skeptical of the rest. “I just had a few questions about Chuck.” I lowered my voice (even though there was no question of him hearing, as his own voice was loud enough to engulf every conversation in the room, regardless of volume). “I thought you might be the woman to tell me. First, why does he stay here all day, and—”

“Mr. O’Malley does as he pleases, and we’re happy to host him, Mr. Collins. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

The response was so cryptic, so rehearsed, that it automatically made me stiff. I forced myself into a somewhat casual stance and repositioned my credible expression.

“I don’t think you understand. I’m a blogger. I write articles on the computer.”

“I know what a blogger is.”

“Then you know what kind of business a story like this could attract,” I continued, refusing to be flustered by this miniature woman and her laconic replies. “Obviously, I can’t make you any promises, but if you could assure me even one of his stories is true, this could be ‘Miss B’s Coffee House, Home of the Famous Chuck O’Malley’ before long.”

“There’s nothing that needs be famous about Mr. O’Malley or my coffee shop,” she replied, coolly as ever.

In my excitement, I had come so close to her face I could see the silver hairs mingled within that unshakable, stubborn bun. I sighed. “Alright, I understand. But would you at least tell me why you just let him hang around like this? I’m sure you’re aware of the implications for your customers.”

“The way I see it, there are some things you just don’t mess with.”

I opened my mouth to object, but was cut off by the pigtailed cashier: “You should ask him about Winifred.” Miss B fired an icy glare in her direction. It was the most expression I had seen on her face until now. That’s how I knew it was something worthwhile.

“Winifred?”

“Watch this,” the cashier giggled. “This”, seemed to delight her almost as much as the prospect of an iced latté the day before. I observed dutifully. “Hey, Chuck,” she yelled. “Tell Mr. Henry about Winifred.”

The glint in his eye was snuffed out entirely. He returned the chair he had been holding to its place upon the floor— slowly, as if it were a small child who may fall if set loose too quickly. The milky haze about his eyes seemed thicker, and for a moment you could hardly see the blue lying hidden inside. He sat down.

“They make the beautiful obscene,” he whispered.

It was the strangest sentence to hear hissing through Chuck’s lips. Admittedly, just minutes before, I would not have supposed he knew how to say it. He turned to face the window at the same time, meditatively inspecting the fog and the damp that clung to the glass, and I knew he was not speaking to the cashier, or the boss, or me. He was saying it to himself. We were invisible.

The customer sitting opposite him seemed relieved. He huffed and picked up a newspaper. The cashier was, obviously, irrepressibly contented with herself.

Miss B, on the other hand, wore a reverence on her withered face that made it almost melt, like a chilled stick of butter laid out in the sun. “People don’t talk like that unless they seen a little piece of hell, Mr. Collins,” she murmured. “Things like that… well, it ain’t my place touch them.”

***

They make the beautiful obscene.

The words haunted me for the next twenty-four hours. I could not write, could not breathe, could not think without seeing them— visualizing them in my mind’s eye, typed out over and over, rendering new meaning at each repetition, and pacing. Pacing for uncounted hours. Something within me wanted to own them, to feel them, to devour them in the same way one desires a lover. They were the keys to the mind— no, the soul— of Chuck O’Malley. But they were like smoke. They could not be held. And why I cared, I may never be able to tell.

I wanted to type them the way I’d envisioned. I wanted to see them on my blog and methodically tie some profound truth to each solitary syllable. But the more I tried to uncover their secrets, the deeper they hid, the more obscure and unfathomable they became and the more they teased and agitated my intelligence.

My upstairs neighbors were battering my ceiling with admirable vigor that day. At times I heard raised voices, or perhaps only one voice— a shriek, or a small dog. It was a comical coincidence, the jabs of the outside world mingled with the interminable frustration of the mind. It sent my brow into an insufferable headache.

Nevertheless, I realized (admittedly a bit late) that I was not entirely alone in my perusal of Chuck’s words. Winifred could explain them to me. Her story would, in itself, unlock their meaning and, I suspected, spur the revival of Anonymously Collins. Therefore, Chuck was, essentially, my newest hit post in human form. My only obstacle would be something the cashier had said just before my departure. Chuck refused to say anything else at the mention of Winifred’s name. I quickly plotted to surmount this with a few tricks left over from journalism school and thought nothing more of it.

***

I reentered Miss B’s coffee shop that afternoon with quite a scheme concocted and a title for the post already in mind. The Beautiful Obscene, it was christened, and I paraded it within my own fantasies as adoringly as a mother parades her newly baptized infant. However, the moment I walked through the metal door, resounding the ever-cheerful bell so artfully attached to it, I was welcomed in a decidedly hostile manner by the foreboding Miss B. Her lips were pursed almost as tight as her bun.

“He ain’t here, Mr. Collins.”

“Who?” I chuckled as if I didn’t know.

“Mr. O’Malley.”

“Ah, no matter.”

I forced myself to peruse the faded menu etched in chalk just above her head. There was shamefully little material there to occupy the silence growing steadily denser between us. The words tumbled suddenly out of my mouth, pushed by anxiety.

“This is unusual for him, right? I was told he came all day, every day.”

“Usually does, but once in awhile, he don’t show. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

It was worded as an encouragement, but by her expression I could tell she would rather I not return tomorrow, or frankly, any day after that. I made my exit after stiffly ordering the cheapest drink available.  

***

It was as if God himself had decided to hammer every square foot of my ceiling. The pounding and throbbing of my neighbors’ floor had begun to sync with the agonizing pulse of my aching head.

By some sick twist of fate, Chuck O’Malley had not repelled me. I had repelled him. More importantly, I had repelled his story.

I could hear what the woman was shrieking now (no, it was not a small dog): “Get out! Get out, you pervert! I hate you!” Over and over.

I did not have the motivation to call the police. They would sort it all out or file for divorce, eventually. I was mentally exhausted and the safe patter of hot shower water felt warm and tranquilizing to my skin. Her shrieks were muffled, now, by the white roar of the water. I let them be.

But they persisted as I stumbled onto the tile floor— a clean, dripping mess. Having no capacity for further disturbance that evening, I shoved my dirty clothing back on in the moody excess of martyrdom and trudged out of the apartment, into the icy night air. I thought of Chuck’s analogy, the one about sitting on a glacier, and I would have probably chuckled a bit to myself if not for the annoyance rising steadily within me. I plotted the most effective way to inform my neighbors of their insupportable behavior and its effects on my head.

I entered the main building (mine was the only apartment facing outside) and turned to the door I knew to be placed directly above my living room— apartment 201. The commotion had ceased, if only for a moment. Instead, a man’s voice came muffled through the wooden door. I’d never noticed a man’s voice there before. It was soft and gravelly and broken, yet there was something strikingly familiar in its tone I could not place.

“Come on, sweetcakes,” it said. “I just wanted to spend a day with you.”

I snorted to myself at this vain attempt to save an obviously hopeless relationship. Then, raising my hand, I beat at the rusted door knocker.

The door swung open so suddenly, that with a blink, I had missed it. Chuck O’Malley was standing in front of me, his eyes sagging with weariness and that haze like the Milky Way so thick that not even a star could penetrate it. All emotion was stripped from his face, leaving only a man— an elderly, splotched, smelling man, uncombed, half-dressed, and tired. My calculated words vanished instantaneously from my mouth.

Chuck opened the door just far enough to fit himself through the space. That was when I saw her.

It was the kind of sight that can strangle a man without touching his body.

She was shriveled, hunched and as ragged as the pale, sickly, ripped wallpaper surrounding her. Her wild, gray hair was matted and twisted into every entanglement imaginable. I thought I saw a piece of it dangling out of her left hand. She was barefoot. Her feet and hands resembled cobwebs of mangled bones and protruding, blue veins. Her yellow nightdress looked as though a young woman may have worn it in the fifties, but now, it was a thing too used for this world. Her face was so deflated that her cheeks resembled nothing but shadowed caverns and her eyes were so wild and wide, that they were more white than brown.

But the rich, chestnut brown they held was beautiful— beautiful like warm brownies on a snowy afternoon; truly, stunningly beautiful.

“Stay here, Winnie. Henry’s a friend of mine. We’re gonna have a little talk. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Winifred.

My chest couldn’t decide whether to swell or collapse.

“I hope you never come back,” Winifred hissed as Chuck stepped out. She spat on the floor, wringing her hands and glowering at me with a bloody, white lip.

The door closed.

Chuck stared into me with wide, pleading eyes.

“She was the prettiest girl in high school,” he choked.

I nodded as if I knew.

We stood in the hall for half an hour. Chuck spoke with murmured words, avoiding my gaze and shuffling in circles. He shifted between telling me and himself, sometimes drifting so close that at times I could count the white hairs on his thick, wrinkled arm and then drifting so far that I strained to hear him. As he talked, I noticed a plain, golden band reflecting the little light in the room off of one of his fingers. I had never noticed it there before.

Chuck’s wife had been raped two months after their wedding. She was walking home from her work, he was at his. It was a tragedy he never could have prevented. Even so, “I didn’t save her,” were the words he whispered twice after telling me.

She didn’t tell him for three years. She hid the trauma within herself and allowed her mind to grow weaker and weaker under its weight. Then, in Chuck’s words, she snapped. Perhaps her brain had been damaged somehow by her attacker. Perhaps it was simply too much to take in. Whatever it was, it made her hate Chuck. Some days she had threatened to throw herself out of windows or onto a knife if he did not agree to leave the house. His parents advised him to leave her to the institutions. He wouldn’t. Instead, he had moved to Milton. He had settled in an apartment, and he had gone to Miss B’s.

***

I sat in my apartment at the wake of the day. The comfort of the place seemed subdued by the blue shadows and restless quiet that gripped the air. There was a chill making the hairs on my arms stand erect, like stiff and resolute soldiers, but I did not have the energy— no, the interest— to warm them. My hair was restlessly tussled. My eyes bagged so that I looked more like Chuck than ever. I had not looked in a mirror for the last twelve hours, but I had been staring at my face reflected in the computer screen for the last two.

I had to write. There are some things that cannot be processed but through tapping of keys. But how to summarize it? Could, or rather, should, it be summarized at all? The world had made Chuck’s wife a monster, but it did not end there. Witnessing her descent had brought out a kind of obscenity in Chuck, too. It had caused him to deny his reality.

I could not write about Chuck. No, his story seemed untouchable to me now— it was too tender, too raw, too real for the page. I would write about the concept— the one he couldn’t stop repeating, the one responsible for distorting his life forever. I gently tapped out the title I had tenderly composed such a little, yet such a long, time ago.

The Beautiful Obscene

One golden beam reached its silent arm to brush the tip of my computer screen. It brought warmth to my arms as I stretched them out to type. I played with the keys, and then I began to write.

Songs From a Caged Bird

December 4, 1941

I woke today to the sound of Takeo singing. Father believes that singing is a waste of time. Takeo is 14 years old and my eldest brother. Father believes that Takeo does not spend his time being productive; he should be doing “men’s work.”  Father tells me to do “women’s work”: “Emiko, clean the house, change Goro.” Father is a traditional man.

 

December 7, 1941 (Night after Pearl Harbor)

Even before I entered our house, I heard Father’s radio blaring through the thin, glass windows, muffling his loud, husky voice. I walked up the dirt path and entered the house as quietly as possible, turning the tarnished knob slowly, not letting a creak escape the door. I walked across our yellowing carpet and tiptoed up the wooden stairs into my bedroom. I quietly closed my door, placing my ear on it. All I could make out from the now muffled whispers in the kitchen was something about Aiko, my uncle. Mother was yelling, and Father was hushing her. I stepped away from the door and fell on my bed beside it. I covered my head with my pillow to muffle the noise. I could still hear the faint noise of my parent’s voices downstairs. What had happened? I stared at my molding ceiling above, trying to brush away the troubles surrounding me.

Before I knew it, I was lulled asleep by their hushed commotion. I awoke a few hours later to hear a sharp rapping on my door as dusk settled in outside my window. I rolled from my bed and opened my door to reveal Mother, her face red and eyes swollen. I was distraught with fear. I searched her blank eyes for any sign of comfort. She told me that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, where Aiko lives. Bombed the little island. I knew what she would say after that.

 

December 9, 1941

I’m in a forest, surrounded by beautiful nature. I am lying on a bed of baby blue flowers. The flowers are huge, and their large petals brush against my face with the soft, warm breeze. The grass around me is gentle, and the trees around me luscious, tall. Birds chirp and frogs croak. I hear the slow trickle of a stream in the distance. I feel as though I am in a fairy tale forest, beauty surrounding me and comforting me in every way. Dew trickles from one of the pink flowers above me into my mouth; it’s sweet like honey. I smile, pushing the events of the past few days outside of my head. I am surrounded by warm, golden rays of sunlight and beautiful nature. I inhale the sweet air engulfing me and let my eyes close. I take in the gentle scent of the forest around me. My eyes flutter open again, but the forest is swirling away from me, disappearing into oblivion. I scream, but no noise leaves my lips. The molding roof in my bedroom takes the place of the pink, plump petals that were once above me. A soft cry in the room beside me takes the place of the birds and frogs frolicking together. I close my eyes again and try to find the forest, but it has been lost forever.

 

December 14, 1941

It has been a whole week since Aiko passed. Though I haven’t seen him in months, my life feels smaller without him. Everyone at school is blaming me for the attack, even though my family died in it. I am so angry at them. If only they knew. They chase me after school and call me names. My friends ignore me. Father lost his job at the butcher today. My headmistress asked Mother to stop coming to school to teach.  

 

January 23, 1941

Yesterday, I was listening to the radio. The man who was speaking explained how he knew that all Japanese people were a threat to fellow Americans. I knew he was joking. I thought he was joking. Takeo wasn’t laughing.

 

February 5, 1941

Today was my birthday, Mother gave me a corn husk doll, Father gave me a sewing kit, and Takeo gave me his old, rusted recorder.  

 

February 19, 1942 (Ex. Or 9066)

Today, when I walked to school, I saw a sign on a billboard outside of the air raid shelter.

In short, the sign told me that I had to be deported with my family to an “internment camp.” What the heck? This must be a nightmare. What is happening? What had I done? Who made up this horrible prank? I walked into the schoolyard, and the taunting resumed. I need to wake up from this wretched dream. Today, the kids threw pebbles at me and the other Japanese kids in the school yard. The only person who still talks to me at school is a boy named Ren. Ren is Japanese; the other boys and girls taunt him too.

 

March 27, 1942

Ren and I walk home together everyday. He lives only a block away from me. We sometimes walk in silence, but we usually talk about our families. School is even more painful. I tell Ren about Goro, and he tells me about his pet guinea pig. Ren has problems at home. He sometimes comes to school and keeps a cap on his head all day.

 

July 22, 1942

Today, some men came to our house: a tall, skinny one and a red-faced, chubby one. They knocked on the door, and Father told me and Takeo to get upstairs. We both fled upstairs, side by side, into my bedroom. I could hear the men downstairs slamming on the door and yelling at us to open up. I heard the front door creak open. Takeo and I pressed our ears against my door to listen in on the conversation. The men wouldn’t stop yelling. I pressed my eyes shut and tried to find the forest again. Takeo and I waited for what seemed like hours until I couldn’t take it any longer. I left my room and peeked down from the top of the stairway. I saw the men tell Father that we were to leave our house in four days and report to the town square where we would receive further instruction.

Louie growled at the men and started barking. Louie wanted them to leave. The tall man kicked Louie across the room. A scream erupted from my throat as I saw Louie’s limp body hit the mantlepiece. I heard a little whimper escape his mouth. He’s alive at least. Father turned around to see my head leave the stairway opening. The men exchanged glances of irritation, but pure fear was in Father’s eyes. I closed my door, ashamed.

 

July 23, 1942

Today, we packed up all of our belongings. Mother and Father are desperately trying to keep our house from getting seized by the government. We fear that will happen as soon as we leave. I cry myself to sleep. We have to leave Louie behind. Father says that we should shoot him, that Louie will starve to death alone here when we leave.

 

July 24, 1942

I am afraid about my future; what will happen to me when I get to the camps? Will I go to school, get food? Will I live with Mother and Father and Takeo? What will happen to Louie? I hope that tomorrow I will wake up, and this will all have just been a nightmare.

 

July 25, 1942

This was not a nightmare. I am still here.

 

July 26, 1942

I woke up this morning in fear of what was to come next. I live now in fear of what is happening. The train is hotter than anything I’ve ever experienced. I am quite certain that I’m in a cattle car. I am still in the “train” right now, but I have no idea where I am. I’m fingering the harmonica that Takeo gave me as I write. The train is dirty and crowded, and I can’t see Mother anywhere. The only thing I have of my past life are the clothes on my back, the harmonica in my hand, and the pitiful suitcase beneath my feet. Louie is at home, all alone. I wouldn’t let Father deprive him of his only chance of survival.

 

July 27, 1942

Today is the first day of camp. The guards put tags on us, like we are luggage or something, before marching us to makeshift living quarters. I am housed in a tiny barrack with Mother and Father and four other people who I don’t know. There’s a girl my age and her old parents. I don’t want to use the bathrooms; the toilets are in a communal place, and I have to wait in line to use them. I can’t believe the guards expect us to shower and use the bathroom with no partitions. The bathrooms were definitely not designed to accommodate modesty.

 

July 29, 1942

There is no school open at the camp yet, and the food is wretched. All I’ve had is canned wieners, rice, and beans. I haven’t made any friends yet. The guards keep telling us that this is for our protection. But why are their guns pointed inward?

 

August 1, 1942

Today, when I came home from school, our barrack was a mess. It appeared that someone had come in here and stolen our things. I looked through all of my bags; the very little money I had was gone, so were my sewing kit and sewing scissors. Mother and Father said it must have been the guards. How could they do this? Shouldn’t they go to jail? Then, I remembered: I am a prisoner. No one cares about what happens to me. At least I still have my harmonica.

 

August 3, 1942

Today, they finished building the school. Mother is going to ask for a job teaching there. Goro has some sort of sickness; I try to help, but I don’t know what to do. There is only one doctor who we know of here. He used to work in an office not far from the butchery where Father worked. His name is Mr. Hachiro, and he lives in the barrack three down from us.

 

August 7, 1942

Every night I play music on the harmonica for Goro. It’s rusty, and not much sound comes out, but it’s better than nothing, and Goro seems to enjoy it.

 

August 13, 1942

I am so scared for Goro. He never sleeps, always cries, and his body is always shaking. Goro looks like he’s lost at least five pounds since we came here. His eyes are starting to stick out of his head. But through all of the pain, I have made a friend. Her name is Marilyn. She is housed in my barrack. We go to school together. She lets me look at her magazines, and I help her with homework. Mother has started teaching at my school. She gets paid 50 cents a day. I heard her tell Father that the white teachers make seven dollars a day.

 

August 21, 1942

Today, Mr. Hachiro came to our barrack. He tried to help Goro, but Goro is so thin and sick. Mr. Hachiro has almost no medicine because he isn’t supplied any. I am scared for Goro. I try to push death out of my head.

 

August 23, 1942

Mr. Hachiro came back to our barrack again today. He held a silver thing that he calls a “stethoscope” to Goro’s chest. He said that Goro’s pulse slowed since he came last. Goro isn’t pumping blood fast enough. Mr. Hachiro held Goro in his arms. He asked me if I wanted to feel Goro’s pulse. I reached down touched his chest and felt his tiny heart pumping through his thin rib cage and the little, red collared shirt that Mother had bought at the store with two day’s pay. Goro wrapped his tiny hands around two of my fingers. He gazed into my eyes and formed a weak, thin smile on his chapped lips. I cradled him in my arms and patted his duckfluff hair. His grip on my hand weakened. I stroked his chest again. Suddenly, the beating stopped.

 

August 29, 1942

Today was Goro’s funeral. We all cried throughout the whole time. We ordered a cross after he died, and Father scratched his name.

      Goro Amori  

       September 9, 1939 – August 23, 1942

      Loving son and brother

     Death by natural causes

     Rest in peace, you will find a better place

We buried him in the dingy camp graveyard. I stroked his little, red shirt as he disappeared into his coffin. Covered with dirt. I folded his clothing and placed it next to his grave, and I left him a card with only three words. Goodbye Goro. Sometimes, life hurts more than death.

 

September 21, 1942

I want to get out of here. The camp is so hot, and there are mosquitos everywhere. I can’t stand school. I barely learn anything with the overfilled classrooms. The food is wretched, and I think it’s all from cans. Mother cries every night for Goro. I want to cry, but I try to be brave. Father never smiles anymore. Takeo seems to have grown up into the “man” Father wanted him to be. He never sings anymore, and his eyes look emotionless. Something about him has changed. Our barrack feels so vacant without Goro. I could never sleep with his cries at night, but now I yearn for nothing more than to hear them. In my dreams, I live life before camp and see Goro smile as he wraps his chubby arms around me. I tried to play my harmonica again today. It’s the first time I picked it up without Goro as my audience. The recorder is so rusted, that all that escaped from the instrument was one, lone note.

 

September 29, 1942

Camp is becoming more bearable. I’ve made more friends at school, and I’ve started playing soccer with the other kids in the afternoons. But the guards frighten me. They look at us like animals, like the enemy.

I wonder if Louie is still alive. My eyes tear up as I think of him starving, whimpering. What if he’s dead? If I were him, I’d have no will to survive. I could never survive alone.

 

December 5, 1942

I awoke tonight to hear gunshots. When I peeked through the torn cloth covering the barrack window, I saw four soldiers holding guns and aiming them at a crowd. I heard screams ring out, and two men fell in front of my eyes. The shots continued to ring out. I saw three shirts soil with blood. I squinted my eyes shut; I couldn’t bear to watch. Finally, all the noise stopped. Guards shot in the air. At least ten men lay wounded. I didn’t know if they were injured or dead.

 

December 25, 1942

Christmas has come. The young children performed a show in the little theatre attached to my school. It was an adorable performance and reminded me of when I performed in the musical A White Christmas in the first grade. I couldn’t help imagining Goro on stage dancing with the other little kids. He would have had so much fun. We exchanged gifts in the mess hall today. Mother gave me a magazine she bought at the camp store. Father gave me a pocketknife. I was shocked. It was not a gift that I would ever expect from him. It wasn’t “ladylike.” Today, we received larger rations for the holiday. We went to pray in the little church, just a barrack with a cross. School was closed. But other than that, not much was different than a regular day.

 

February 5, 1943

My birthday has come. Neither Father nor Mother remembered. At least Takeo did, but he had nothing to give me.

 

April 12, 1943

I haven’t written in months. I feel no hope anymore that I will leave here. I have friends, a family, the bare necessities, but I want freedom.

 

April 26, 1943

The other children seem to enjoy camp much more than I do. They laugh and dance and run around. I try to smile. Mother says people will like me more if I do.

 

May 30, 1943

Before today, I never knew what job Father had at camp. He never talked about it. I overheard Father telling Mother that all he does is boil food in the back of the camp kitchen. He hates his job. So much for the “men’s work” he always wanted Takeo to do.

 

June 12, 1943

Today, I was listening to the radio in our barrack after dinner in the mess hall. Mother, Father, and Takeo were at the camp store buying soap. The man on the radio explained to listeners how Roosevelt’s decision to intern the Japanese allowed “loyal” Americans to be safe from Japanese criminals, and how we were “a threat to national security.”

My lips flared, and I slammed my fist on the table. Goro had died here as a three year old, and he was a “threat to national security”? I couldn’t listen to this! How could Mother let me listen to this! I ran to my bunk, grabbed the pocketknife from under my pillow, and smashed the radio into as many pieces as I could. The glass buttons broke and shattered. I let out a gratifying sigh of relief, my hand covered in my own blood and shattered glass.

 

June 13, 1943

What had I been thinking yesterday? As soon as Mother came home, she saw what I had done and slapped me across the face. Mother told me that I will come back to the barrack every day straight after school for one month. No soccer. No friends. Mother wants me to find a job at the camp to pay for the radio. She didn’t even notice the blood on the floor.

 

July 21,1943

I am in the forest again, surrounded by plump, pink petals, delicate wildlife, beautiful vegetation. The sweet air floods my nostrils again. I inhale and smile. I walk towards the trickling stream and wash my face with the sweet water. I look up at the blue sky; beautiful clouds peek out from the tall, lush vegetation. I walk across a pattern of stones in the river, the stones glistening with fresh water. Suddenly, my legs give way. I slip on the stones and into the river waterfall. I scream, louder than ever. But I am silent and alone. I grab onto a stone to not fall down the waterfall. The water surrounding me flushes red. I scream again. Silently. My pain is unheard. The sky clouds black, the birds around me vanish. The trees rustle slightly in the wind. My grip loosens, and I fall… grabbing at the thin, sweet air.

Suddenly, I wake up, surrounded by silent darkness and a pool of cold sweat.

 

September 1, 1943

I have been looking for almost three months for a way to pay for the radio. I can’t find a way, and I have broken our only connection to the outside world.

 

December 12, 1943

I am a prisoner in this camp. I’ve forgotten the taste of freedom.

 

February 3, 1944

Takeo has a job now. He’s been working for almost a month. He works as an assistant to Mr. Hachiro in the infirmary barrack. Takeo’s eyes have turned from emotionless to stone cold. He has seen too much pain. I heard from Marilyn that many men die every week in the infirmary. I can’t imagine my once singing, loving Takeo witnessing death.

 

April 1944

I received my first letter from outside of camp today. Someone had read it before I had. The letter was from Ren. I hadn’t thought about him since before I came to the camps, and a part of that made me feel guilty. He had always been there for me, and I had forgotten him in return.

 

November 1944

Memories of my old life before camps keep flooding back to me, as Ren writes me letters about how much fun we used to have. I was nine years old when I first came to camp, now I am almost twelve. Nearly three years have passed, but it feels like a lifetime. Memories before camp are becoming so distant, I can scarcely remember what our house looked like anymore. I have many friends now through soccer and school, but I miss the rest of my family. I think every day about what they might be doing. I have grown up more in these three years than all the other years in my life.

 

August 21, 1945

Ren sends me letters every time he can. I have replied whenever I get stamps, but it doesn’t seem like he’s getting all my letters.

August 11, 1945

Dear Emiko,

I am writing to you from the Minidoka Internment camp, in Idaho. Since I came to this camp years ago, I have been trying to contact you. I haven’t been able to find where you are interned because I don’t know anyone who lives in your camp. I have sent letters to you for months, but it seems you haven’t received any of them. How are you doing? How is the weather? We have a mosquito infestation and really hot weather. Because it’s a desert! A real desert! I’m not in the same barrack as my family, but I see them every day. My mom works at the beauty shop, and my dad works on the irrigation project with my older brother. I miss you so much, especially walking home from school with you.

I made honor roll this month at the school because I helped repair the schoolhouse and improved my grades. My older brother made the baseball team. I tried out, but I wasn’t good enough. But I’ll survive.

The stamp prices are wild at the camp store. I’m guessing they’re expensive for you too, so I enclosed a few stamps for you in here so you can send me a letter back (if you can.) You don’t even have to write me back, I just need a sign that you are getting my letters and being happy.

Yours forever,

Ren 🙂

How did Ren end up in Idaho? We went to the same school. If only he knew how I cry a little inside thinking of all the memories we had and thinking of what could have been if I hadn’t forgotten him.

 

November 20, 1945

I woke up in the morning with the usual dread that carries with me at camp, but today, a little glimmer of sunlight peeked through the curtain in my barrack window.

When I came home from school with Marilyn today, we sat in my barrack on my cot reading a comic book. The book she had chosen for us to read tonight was Captain Marvel. Captain Marvel can turn instantly from a child to an adult, and she can fly. Marilyn was talking to me, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking about flying away from here. I was still thinking about flying away when I heard the doorknob turn, and Takeo entered from work. Something about his face looked less flushed, his expression more emotional than usual. His eyes had a warmth that I hadn’t seen in years.

He told me that we would leave the camps tomorrow, to pack our bags and get ready. One of the guards had made an announcement when Takeo walked to work. I yelled with joy; I had never felt so alive. I jumped up and hugged Marilyn and Takeo, and a smile broke out on Takeo’s face. His eyes sparkled; I hadn’t seen that in years. Finally, I’ll be free, happy again, I’ll see my friends, my family, Ren, Louie… ? If only Goro was here to see this, he would be six years old now. My eyes welled with bittersweet emotion. Mother cried with joy, and Father swept me up into his arms. After all we’d been through, freedom was finally here.

 

November 21, 1945

Today, we left on the train from camp. I didn’t even care that I was riding in a cattle car anymore. Joy bubbled inside me. I could taste sweet freedom again.

I sat next to Mr. Hachiro on the train ride back, the man who tried to save Goro. A child across from me was wailing. Tears of bittersweet emotion rolled down my round cheeks. I wish my baby brother was here to share this moment with me.

 

November 23, 1945

We arrived back at home today; our neighbors had offered to pick us up from the train station. The house was the same, muddy grey color as it had always been, but the paint was peeling and chipping. The windows were shattered. I held my breath as Father touched the door. It fell straight through the frame with just his light touch; the door was molding around the edges. I walked up the stairs holding Takeo’s hand. I was too scared to see what was to come. I sealed my eyes shut and walked up the stairs into my room. There wasn’t one item that hadn’t been swept from my room except for an old box of broken toys in my closet. I gasped. I was heartbroken and astonished. The memories of my old life had been stripped clean.

I burst into tears as I walked into Goro’s little bedroom. The walls that Father and I had spent a whole day painting baby blue were now a faded grey. The toy chest that was bright and well worn had vanished. A few toys remained in a small basket next to his empty, splintering crib, the only reminder of my loving little brother. I fell to my knees and put my face in my hands. I remember when I pulled Goro around the house in that basket. I would grab his chubby hands, he would laugh, and I would smile. I reached up to stroke his crib; I saw him flicker there for just a moment. I reached out to grab him, but he slipped through my hands, a mirage. I shut my eyes. His crib will remain empty forever.

 

November 26, 1945

We were so fortunate that our house didn’t become government property. Our neighbors somehow prevented it from happening. Our house is the only memory of what we have left. Everything is gone. Vanished. Whether Louie died, was saved, or ran away, it is up to imagination. I remember scampering around with Louie in the backyard, climbing up trees just to tease him. I close my eyes and still feel the sharp bark scraping my legs. In my mind, I hear Louie’s paws scratching on the carpet in the kitchen and his gentle whimper as he begs for scraps.  The house’s barren, skeletal walls remind me of what this vacant space used to be.

 

November 29, 1945

Our neighbors seem happy to have us back. But something about them looks so changed, so empty, the way that Takeo’s eyes used to look just a week ago.

 

December 17, 1945

Mother was able to get her job back teaching at my elementary school. We are so fortunate to have an income. We sleep in potato sacks on the floor of our rooms since the furniture was taken. The rest of our family hasn’t been so lucky. Most of them have been banished from any occupation.

 

January 1, 1946

I was cooking with Mother in the kitchen today. The last time I cooked here was five years ago. So much has changed, even in a room as simple as our kitchen. Before the war, I would watch Mother make soba with vegetables and beef galore, I would play with Louie and Goro on the floor, and we would beg Mother for extra scraps of food. A tear rolled down my cheek into the limp carrots boiling in the dented stove pot. I could hear the single drop of water fall in the large bowl. Silence is not always a virtue.

 

January 7, 1946

Takeo and Father are desperate to find work somewhere, anywhere.

 

February 21, 1946

Today was a day of celebration in our household, one of the happiest days since we arrived back home. Both Father and Takeo got jobs at the Post Office today. I pray that soon we will have furniture again.

The kids in our neighborhood who aren’t Japanese are so lucky. They never went to camps; they have completely normal lives. While we were suffering, they were living lives of luxury and joy. They had plenty of food every day, while we lived on boiled wieners and burnt bread. The war barely affected them as far as I’m concerned. I come home to a potato sack, while they come home to warm beds.

 

February 24, 1946

Today, as I prepared for school, I saw a boy who looked so familiar leaning against the school house. Ren? We ran towards each other, like a Hollywood film cliché. We held in a long embrace. It was nice to put a face to the letters I had been receiving for the past two years. He walked me home that day. The security of seeing my only friend before the war was more than I could ever ask for.

 

February 28, 1946

I sat on my floor doing my daily homework assignments, staring at the deep darkness of the night sky from my small window. A sliver of moonlight peeked in through the uncovered glass.

I heard beautiful music from the other side of my bedroom’s thin wall. Mother must have turned the record player on. As I strained my ears further, I recognized the music as Takeo’s voice. Tears of joy sprung from my eyes. It must have been five years since I heard him sing. The memories of Father’s gruff voice telling him off and Goro’s chubby hands clapping for him flooded my memory. A smile broke on my face. Hope had returned to my household. Comforting joy and warmth enveloped me, and I let the soft music lull me to sleep.   

 

Felix

I used to have a life, I promise. But since last winter it’s just turned into giant loads of crap. The detectives and police who still come by to our house to give us false hope, the hundreds of empty, meaningless Facebook posts about how Graham was a beautiful person with a beautiful soul. Ugh, it makes me want to barf. The worst part is Mom and Dad. After Graham disappeared, it was like they transformed into grey, half-versions of themselves. Like the ghosts of who they used to be, floating from room to room stuffed with memories of their son. I can’t blame them though, I guess I’ve become a ghost too.

Me and Graham weren’t ever like normal brothers. He was my friend. My best friend right before Donald and Mindy. I remember so many little things I had always taken for granted. His smile, too wide and too friendly. His jokes and his lumpy pancakes that he would fry and stack with cascading butter, golden and warm, fresh, tart jam melting into rich syrup. His stupid obsession with the cat videos on the internet and his bubbling enthusiasm that could drown you if you weren’t careful. All of it is gone.

And I keep clinging. Clinging clinging clinging. To the fact that they haven’t found a body. To Graham’s messy, empty room. To Donald and Mindy – excuse me, Elle – even though ever since that night we’ve been drifting farther and farther away. To the past. My walls have transformed into maps, newspaper clippings, photos. Because Graham’s gone – with all the hope we had that we would find him. But I can’t give up. Not for some BS noble reason, just because I have to find him. He’s my baby brother. I – I can’t give up.

These words, these thoughts, flow and fly through my frazzled mind. I’ve stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped caring about anything else.  My shirts hang loosely around my frame and my eyes are perpetually lined with black and purple rings. My grades plummeted. I’ll probably fail my sophomore year. The only thing I haven’t given up on is the basketball team, and only because Coach Bennett refused to let me “choke on my sappy stupidity.” It was his way of trying to do what everyone else was trying to do – put my pieces back together. I can still win games with ease, but my heart isn’t in it anymore. My heart isn’t in anything anymore. And it’s all because of that night.

He shouldn’t have been there – he was only in eighth grade. But he’s always been tall and who knows who would’ve mistaken him for another freshman, I should have realized that. Idiot, idiot, idiot. It was just supposed to be me, Donald, and Mindy. It was our first party, our first real party. It had all the stereotypes: drunk kids making out in the coat closet, the smell of chips and cigarette smoke wafting into the air, and the bits of weed sophomores bullied us into trying. Man, I got wasted, so wasted – I had never smoked anything before – and everything just blurred together. Mindy, in her grey cardigan looking out of place and alone. Candy Evans kissing Donald while the guys wolf-whistled, and the girls whispered in amusement. And Donald, who disappeared shortly after with a plastered smile and something strange brewing in his eyes.

God, it hurts to remember.

I didn’t even know Graham was there until Mindy ran up to me and told me.

“Felix, what the hell? Did you know Graham’s here?”

I should have taken him home then, I should’ve, I should’ve. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to drag his sorry butt back to Mom and Dad and land myself in trouble. So, I told him he could stay as long as he didn’t drink anything and wouldn’t let a peep slip out about that night. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It went on for what seemed like forever. Drinking, dancing, and laughing — until I woke up the next morning on a stranger’s tan, smoky couch. And Graham was gone. I scoured the whole house looking for him, the backyard, the attic, everything. My emotions ran from confused, to annoyed, to worried, to panicked, to… gone. That’s when I spilled to my parents, who called the cops, and plastered posters with Graham’s face on the sides of milk cartons and on the faded bulletin board in the community center. A year later, and those posters have browned. Their corners curl up in tired wrinkles — like they know we should be giving up.

I can barely look Mom and Dad in the eye anymore. They never blamed me, or stopped caring about me; but I think they know, deep down, that it was my fault. If it weren’t for me, Graham would still be humming some light-hearted tune in the room two doors down. And I wake up choking on my hot, bubbling shame. It’s always there to rip me out of any peaceful dreams. It’s the cocktail of my life. And I down it everyday.

Donald and Mindy stopped hanging out with me. We weren’t bound together anymore. They found new friends, and I found solace in the soft, navy sheets from Graham’s bedroom, that still felt like him.  

Graham. I miss him. I miss him, I miss him. I miss him so damn much.

Because, honestly, life without him isn’t worth a cent.

 

World Class Heroes (Exerpt)

Introduction

In the middle of nowhere, there was an old den. In this old den, something very evil was about to be hatched, and only a great group of heroes could stop it.

 

World Class Heroes: The Big Crossover

Chapter 1

Dr. Dupont was fixing the time machine. He had decided to take a break from using the time machine for a while until he could fully control the effects of time. Until then, Dr. Dupont would focus on other experiments. In his den were some very unique artifacts. What was so unique about the artifacts was that they didn’t yet exist. All of them came from the future. One notable artifact was Dr. Dupont’s Speedster 2000, his signature go kart for Extreme Go Karting. The whole story of his Extreme Go Karting match, as well as his trip to the future, was very complicated. It started when his time machine crashed, and he fell in the future. It had all came down to this: Dr. Dupont desperately needed to fix his time machine. Dr. Dupont went around, making the finishing touches to the time machine.

 

Chapter 2

Mr. Moore was in the house, taking a look at the broken attic. The attic was the secret room the owner had made. It was very haunted, as there was a secret shadowy figure coming and taking the people who were visiting the house and putting them in a vault. Mr. Moore had been traveling with some friends and he had stumbled upon the house. The owner had let him stay in the house, but as we all know, they discovered that the house was haunted. Mr. Moore had decided he wanted to investigate more and so throughout the months, he had opened up the Horror Investigations Academy. All he needed to do right now was take a rest and not think about what he had realized after the whole mishap. “No crazy horror story can scare me,” he said.

 

Chapter 3

Detective Sharp was in a big building while Patrick was at home watching TV. He was in no ordinary building; it was the S.P.I.E.S. building, or Secret Police International Espionage Security building. It was the building where the S.P.I.E.S. agents would hang out and get new missions. It was also where they would meet. Detective Sharp had heard that General Alfonzo, the leader at S.P.I.E.S., was having a meeting to discuss a big idea. The General had needed Sharp in the meeting. The building was huge, with labs, scientists, secret agents, computers, tests, and lots of cool technology.

“I would definitely want to work in this place,” said Sharp.

In the meeting room, there were lots of people. Some Sharp had known from the past while others he had not known. One thing was for sure, the place was really loud. Then, everyone was seated down as the General gave a very large speech about his new project.

The General said, “For years we have had terror in the U.S., and in the world. While our soldiers can handle taking out the enemy, it is the sheer idea that we can not take out most enemies on our own, resulting in a large hard battle and hundreds of agents dying. Plus, we need a team to take out the larger unknown threats that happen to this day. That is why I have decided to start Project Crossover. Project Crossover will create a team of heroes to save the world when needed. We will tell you the official list of candidates later. Alright, everyone can leave now.”

Everyone started leaving the building in relief that the General was finished with his speech. Just as Sharp was leaving, General Alfonzo said that he would send an email to all the current contenders, or people who don’t work for S.P.I.E.S. but receive their daily updates and go to their events with the final list of members in Project Crossover. Sharp had lots of time to think about what would happen in Project Crossover.

 

Chapter 4

While Detective Sharp was leaving the S.P.I.E.S. building, he noticed that it was busy. Inside the S.P.I.E.S. building, there were lots of things going on. There were scientists taking tests, rooms filled with people on computers, security guards guarding the vault of weapons and dangerous items, as well as a large guarded prison filled with some of the most dangerous criminals. All the agents had their own rooms. The cool weapons at S.P.I.E.S included the Laser Blaster 2000, the Light Ray, the Gattling Grinder, as well as The Repulsor. S.P.I.E.S. also had cool cars with lots of guns. There were even flying cars. One agent was called down by General Alfonzo. The agent went down to General Alfonzo’s office. While going to the General’s office, he started hearing weird sounds. He quickly pulled out his gun and turned back. As the agent was walking, he decided to place a security button on the floor. The security button could detect danger from the amount of distance its shockwave caught. As the agent was turning back, he heard the button make the shocking noise. It sounded like a buzz. The agent came and started firing bullets. He could not see anything suspicious. Then, as he was moving toward the button to catch the mysterious person, something hit him. The agent was on the floor, dead, as a circle of blood lay on the floor with his body.

 

Chapter 5

A medium-sized man walked up to the agent’s dead body. He saw the body and smiled evilly. Then he warped over to an old abandoned den. The den was no ordinary den, as it was the supervillain hideout. All the famous supervillains hung out and they hatched their evil plans in the den. The supervillains started getting cameras and recording equipment. The different supervillains were all in different places. Shape-Shifting Man was in charge of the light, the Time and Space Wizard was using the main camera and the Anti-tective was setting up the computer.

He hacked into the S.P.I.E.S. internet and all the S.P.I.E.S. workers could see the video. What showed up was the supervillains’ leader, Mass Executioner.

Mass Executioner said, “Greetings humans. I have hacked your computers.”

“Cut,” the Time and Space Wizard said. ”Anti-tective hacked the computers.”

“Grrgh,” Mass Executioner said. He said, “Anyway, Anti-tective has hacked your computers. As you can see, I am planning to take over the world with my … my … my … wait, what was the superweapon called again?”

Just saying, we’re live so they can see what embarrassing things you’re doing. Anyway, the weapon was called Ex-Mass Pro. Remember, it’s a parody of X-Mas. You want to anchor your speech,” said Shape-Shifting Man.

“Fine,” Mass Executioner said. He added, “Wait a moment, then I will continue.” After the setup, Mass Executioner went back to his speech. “As you can see, I am planning to take over the world with my Ex-Mass Pro. Now, to end the speech, I will tell you a little story. Not only did I kill one of your soldiers, I also … dang it, I forgot.”

Anti-tective said, “Dang it, the line was ‘I also shut off your power so now you cannot see what evil stuff I am doing.’”

Mass Executioner said, “I also shut off your power so now you cannot see what evil stuff I am doing.”

Then, Anti-tective hacked the computers so that the live stuff was shut off.

 

Chapter 6

The message that Mass Executioner had delivered made General Alfonzo furious, although some of the workers were laughing at the horrible mistakes that Mass Executioner made.

“We need to set up the team, fast!” he said. General Alfonzo went to his office and then came back a few seconds later with a full list of candidates for Project Crossover. Then, General Alfonzo went to his computer to email the S.P.I.E.S. attendants. Meanwhile, Dr. Dupont, Detective Sharp, and Mr. Moore were all checking their email and found the Project Crossover candidate list. They were really shocked by the official candidates. They were all on the list.

Dr. Dupont wondered how he was going to stop a new threat. All he had was a time machine. But he also had his other inventions, even his Speedster 2000. Dr. Dupont felt like Doctor Who. Mr. Moore thought that his skills as a horror investigator would definitely be the reason why he was on the team. Detective Sharp wasn’t surprised, as he knew that he was a worthy person for this new team. The final member was unknown, as they were only referred to as the Inventor. Dr. Dupont, Detective Sharp, and Mr. Moore were all ready to start their new adventure.

 

Chapter 7

Detective Sharp was walking over to the S.P.I.E.S. building for the team’s first meeting. As he was driving to the building with Patrick, a crazy maniac was flying in a plane toward a building. Inside the building, Sharp and Patrick made it to General Alfonzo’s office. General Alfonzo said, “Alright, let’s introduce ourselves, then I will tell you the problem and how we will handle it.”

Everyone introduced themselves, then Sharp asked, “Who was the crazy maniac flying in the plane and why is he on the team?“

General Alfonzo replied, “That is the Inventor. He is great at creating inventions and supplies us with the best weapons and gear.”

Sharp replied, “Why does he have a crazy attitude?”

General Alfonzo replied, “Listen up, Sharp, we have to be nice on this team. You shouldn’t judge someone if they’re weird. Besides, he might come in use later. Anyway, yesterday we received a cryptic message from a new threat — the Mass Executioner. He plans to take over the world with the Ex-Mass Pro. We need you all to stop him and his minions. Tomorrow you will break into his satellite station. It is guarded by many robots so use your skills to defeat them.”

 

Chapter 8

As if time hadn’t passed,  the first day had passed and the heroes were ready for their first mission. General Alfonzo assigned everyone to their roles. He said, “Alright, here’s the plan. Dr. Dupont, you go back in time to a time when the robots left the satellite station. Then, you can go to the computers and delete the data. Sharp and Patrick, you sneak up and take the robots out. The Inventor will take out the aerial guards. And lastly, Mr. Moore will pull out the power.”

The heroes went to their places and started the mission. Dr. Dupont went in his time machine and traveled to Sunday, March sixth. The robots had to go to the evil lair to talk to Mass Executioner. So Dr. Dupont went into stationary mode and deactivated the satellite.

Stationary Mode was a mode that allowed Dr. Dupont to do things that wouldn’t produce an effect that would last forever, but would affect the future. It would only affect the future for a bit. However, if the effect is interfered with, then the interference stays. The reason Dr. Dupont didn’t want to permanently change the hacking was because the robots had lots of satellites that were given to them by Mass Executioner. Therefore, they could easily replace the hacked one.

Once Dr. Dupont hacked the station, Detective Sharp threw a bomb in the smoke pipe. It fell all the way to the wifi connection wires. The wires were in the middle of the station so there would be a big bang. The robots were surprised by the hacking. Then, Detective Sharp activated the bomb and then the station went BOOM!!! The Inventor had flown in the air and shot the aerial guards. The team was starting to leave until, the robots came out of the destroyed station, very angry. The team started to fight. Sharp and Patrick pulled out their revolvers and started shooting the robots. But the bullets were no match for the robot’s armor. Dr. Dupont went back to present day to see the chaos. He quickly grabbed his super sonic laser weapon and deactivated the robots. The inventor went in his plane and started blasting the robots. The robots were weakened and the surviving ones retreated.

The team shook hands, and General Alfonzo came and said, “I am so proud of you all. Keep up the good work.”

Then Detective Sharp said to the Inventor, “You actually did good. I regret saying that you were a crazy maniac. Do you want to be friends?”

The Inventor replied, “Yeah we can be friends.”

The team went to the plane and flew back to S.P.I.E.S.

 

Chapter 9

Some robots were flying to Mass Executioner’s lair.

The robots said, “Master, some people came and weakened us. Half of our army has been deactivated.”

Mass Executioner came and asked the robots, “Who were they?”

The robots replied, “We don’t know. They were random individuals. There was no team name or anything else.”

Mass Executioner said, “Find these people and their master.”

Meanwhile, Detective Sharp, Mr. Moore, Dr. Dupont, and The Inventor were all hanging out and having coffee. Then, General Alfonzo came and directed the team to a new mission. That mission turned out well. Throughout the next few days, the team was doing successful in their missions. The bad guys were getting weakened and one day, the team defeated a group of robots and retrieved a map of a large castle. The team realized that the old den was a decoy and that the villains had a real secret lair that was very big.

General Alfonzo said, “Tomorrow we will invade the lair and defeat the enemy. The evil lair is hard to navigate so we will split into teams. Everyone get some sleep, okay?”

Detective Sharp said, “We should make a team name.”

The Inventor asked, “What should we name it?”

Dr. Dupont said, “Well, we are all people of the world, we are a class, then we are obviously heroes. We should call ourselves the World Class Heroes.”

Everyone agreed and so the World Class Heroes got some sleep for the big day.

 

Chapter 10

The heroes woke up and got ready. Sharp was given a better gun instead of the bad revolver. General Alfonzo took the map of the castle and made coordinates to the homeworld of the villains, which was called Otherworldly Prime. Otherworldly Prime was a place which robots had taken over, and it had been turned into a big lair where the robots thrived under Mass Executioner. The S.P.I.E.S plane had to fly for 88 miles an hour and then the portal to Otherworldly Prime would activate.

The reason that the plane had to fly 88 miles an hour was because Otherworldly Prime existed in a place that could only be accessed by super speed. If the plane flew 88 miles an hour, it would fly so fast that it would be too unstable for planet Earth and they would land in Otherworldly Prime. The plane loaded the whole team and General Alfonzo. Then, the plane flew so fast most of the people on board started feeling nauseous. The portal activated and the team, including General Alfonzo, were all in the plane, while it was falling in a big blue hole. The big blue hole was so bright.

Then, after some time, the team made it to Otherworldly Prime. Otherworldly Prime was a space-looking place which had barely any people and barely any inhabitants. The team could see a futuristic castle in the distance. They assumed it was the lair and went over to it. But then, the floor stood up and the team was standing on a big block. The bottom then turned into acid and therefore, the team was stuck. Dr. Dupont found a code device. He quickly unraveled the code and a set of tiles showed up. Detective Sharp used his detective skills and found that a certain number of tiles would hurt the person who stepped on them while another number of tiles would not hurt the person who stepped on them. The Inventor quickly stuck up his foot and attempted to step on the tile.

But then, he took it back. Dr. Dupont studied the tiles with his sonic laser weapon. He determined the correct tiles and directed the team to the correct path. The team was led to another big block. On the big block, there were five sets of laser traps. There were tiles in between them. The Inventor determined that if you stepped on those tiles, the laser traps would activate. The laser traps were blocking the exit to the obstacle. General Alfonzo noticed other paths next to the laser traps. The paths had the key to deactivating the laser traps. General Alfonzo split the team into halves and each half went to each path.

Detective Sharp and the Inventor went on the left path, while Dr. Dupont and Mr. Moore were on the right path. We haven’t been talking about Mr. Moore for a long time. Anyway, Detective Sharp and the Inventor noticed that there was a tunnel with a lever. The lever deactivated the left side of laser Dr. Dupont and Mr. Moore found a code. Dr. Dupont unraveled the code and the right side of laser traps were deactivated.

This time, there was no block that appeared. General Alfonzo used his plane remote to bring the plane to the big block they were standing on. The team hopped in the plane and it flew. General Alfonzo noticed some fighter jets and they engaged in a large dogfight. All the planes were shooting bullets and the team’s plane couldn’t handle it. But they noticed that they were close to the big castle and they didn’t lose hope. The plane shot down the fighter jets and as they were getting close to the big castle. Just then, after going through lots of fighter jets, they had made it. They were standing in front of the entrance of the castle.

To be continued…

Netherlandia (Excerpt)

Chapter One

The smell of tulips wafted through the air of Zuid-Holland. Hedgerows sat in orderly lines around the windmill. The gardener lazily poured water into a funnel. The water sloshed down through a series of pipes, and erupted out of a complex sprinkler system, watering the whole flower bed evenly. The water kept raining down for a couple more seconds before stopping. The gardener paused to admire her handywork before easing herself down onto a bench whose faded paint was beginning to peel away. Suddenly the hedge around the garden started to quiver. The gardener muttered to herself about a trouble making “wasbeer” that had plagued the garden recently. But, before she could reach the hedge, a whistling sound that screeched across the plains burst forth from the orderly shrubbery. Unfortunately she knew what that meant. That was the sound of a Stoompistool ready to fire. She scrambled backwards, trying to warn the chemist that toiled away inside the windmill. But it was too late. Steam rushed from the sprinklers, it felt like it was turning the air to fire. And still the whistling screamed on, now mingled with the screams of the gardener as the burning steam touched her skin. Gray figures stepped out from the hedges. They wore baggy rubber suits to protect against the steam. Strapped on their backs were huge water tanks that fed their Stoompistools. The gardener crawled away from them, her face flushed and boiling like a lobster. All the beautiful tulips around her were withering in the steam’s heat, turning from their previous pastel splendor to charred twigs. The gray figures marched past her – there had to be dozens of them! She noticed that they all sported badges shaped in five-pointed-stars. Each of the star’s points contained a single, glaring eye. The people entered the wind-mill, slamming the door behind them.

Once inside they removed their face-masks. The steam couldn’t harm them in here, and it would disperse in a few moments anyway. In the center of the mill was a chugging, many-geared, wind-powered machine that fueled the various scientific instruments that were placed around the room. Glass tubes, beakers, and jars of mysterious chemicals bubbled in most of them. A staircase wound around the mill’s main gear-shaft. There, on the stairs, stood Petrus Jacobus Kipp. He looked to be in his thirties, with red-brown hair, placed in a messy comb-over. He wore a ruffled suit decorated with a cravat. He had obviously come downstairs to see what the commotion was, he had certainly not expected this.

“Jeetje.” He pouted.

“Kipp!” called the one in front, a mustachioed, dark-skinned man, his hair ruffled from being inside the face-mask. “Hand over the inrichting!”

A chuckle escaped Kipp’s lips, though his face still read nervousness. “Is that what you want? I can’t see why. Unless you want to prepare small volumes of gases.” He looked thoughtful. “Do you?”

“It is of no matter,” the leader growled. “Give it up.” He held out his hand, behind him the others readied their Stoompistools. The scientist backed up slowly, back up the stairs. He only made it a few more steps before he broke the charade and ran. Steam rushed from the Stoompistools in small controlled bursts, totally unlike the screaming cloud in the garden. But the chemist was surprisingly agile, he dodged the worst of the blast, escaping through a hatch in the ceiling.

The leader nodded, signaling for the rest of his troops to follow up the stairs. They reached the hatch without any difficulty. The room they entered was obviously Kipp’s study. Bookshelves lined three walls, the other was made entirely out of glass, which gave an excellent view of the windmill’s giant blades, swooping in and out of sight. Like the story below, this room had a gear-shaft sprouting from the center like an ever-turning wooden pillar. Facing the glass wall was a hard wood desk. Kipp crouched behind the desk, quivering. He now held a Stoompistool of his own, a small, glass model, possibly his own invention. It was a strange one, heated, not by fire, but by a magnifying glass attached to one side. Unfortunately for the chemist, only a few rays of sunlight filtered through the fog of steam that drifted around the windmill.

“Kipp!” shouted the leader. “We don’t want to have to hurt you, so come out from behind the desk and give us your apparatus!”

“Or w-what?” Kipp said, his voice shaky.

“We smoke you out!” The leader said, raising his hand, which now held a handkerchief, embroidered with the same five-pointed star he sported on his badge. Everyone in the room knew that if he dropped it, the steam guns would fire, drowning the desk and the scientist underneath it in a blanket of pain. However, he wouldn’t have to drop it if Kipp came out now. But apparently, Kipp had enough solar power for one good steam-blast. He pulled the trigger and the leader got a face full of boiling steam. While they were stunned he leapt over the desk, trying to escape. But the dark-skinned man wasn’t as fazed as he appeared. He grabbed Kipp and forced him up against the glass wall with so much strength that fracture lines appeared on it. Through the window the leader could see that the steam was dispersing.

“Where… Is… The… Inrichting?” with every word he pounded Kipp farther into the window, causing the cracks to spread farther over the wall.

“I don’t have it,” the chemist groaned, his voice hoarse. “It’s not here; it’s on it’s way to Delft for a patent.”

The leader dropped Kipp to the ground. They walked toward the door, two or three walked backwards so they could fill the room with steam as they left.

Masara Gets Bullied

Once upon a time, long, long ago, like twenty years ago, there lived a monkey whose name was Masara. Masara was very weak and couldn’t do anything but walk and eat flowers. Since he was so weak, people would pick on him.

One day, he was in the bathroom and five people came to beat him up. Their names were Tom, George, Greg, Peter, and Bob.

Bob grabbed Masara’s tail.

George said, “Oh, hi, little monkey.”

“Slam him into the wall!” Greg said, “No, dump him in the toilet!”

Masara decided that he would never forgive Greg and was going to kick his butt.

Peter said, “Greg, George, Tom, Bob, I don’t want to be a bully with you guys anymore.”

Tom said, “I agree with Peter. I don’t want to be bullies with you guys anymore either. I’m going to go and find a new nice friend.”

Now Masara, Peter, and Tom went to learn karate.

After a year, they were all black belts, and they went to fight Greg. Masara dressed in a huge suit of monkey armor that was dark red with a light on every side that would blind anyone who tried to hit him. After he was dressed, Masara, Peter, and Tom went looking for Greg. They found him near the dumpster behind Burger King, and Masara said to Greg, “Just because you were being mean to me before doesn’t mean you can be mean to me now!” And then he started a little dance and said, “HIYAAA! HOO-OH! HIIIYA!” He started screeching like a monkey (because he was a monkey). That was Tom and Peter’s cue from Master Masara to exercise their karate skills.

Greg started to cry because he was very sad that Masara and his old friends, Tom and Peter, had finally punched him. Greg was trying to punch back, but he was too weak.

Masara punched Greg on the butt and hit Greg so hard he knocked Greg’s pants off. Masara was just that mad. Greg was really, really upset now because Masara had punched his pants off. Greg tried to hit Masara back, but Masara’s karate training had made him too fast and strong for Greg to hit.

Greg got so mad that he couldn’t hurt Masara that he chased after Masara and ran into a wall so hard that he got knocked out. An ambulance came to take him to the hospital, but Masara said, “O00h! Don’t take him! He’s really rude. He almost flushed me down a toilet to send me off into dirty yucky crocodile water under the sewers!”

“We’ll take care of this!” the singing ambulance driver said in opera, and sent Greg to a prison hospital in China to keep him away from the others. In the prison, a blacksmith came and turned Greg into a soda can and then filled him up with a new kind of soda called “The LooLooLa” to give to Masara, Tom, and Peter. The other bullies, George and Bob, were really glad that they had been saved as well from Greg, because Greg had been making them be bullies. They joined Masara, Tom, and Peter to have a soda party.

Masara was so glad that he got to go out with all his new best friends. And it was his birthday, so he got to have LooLooLa soda and a monkey-shaped cake to celebrate.

Heartbeat

He’s every toddler on the floor

who looks at you and turns away,

who smirks and laughs and grabs your hair,

‘cuz it’s all he needs to make his day.

 

But hidden beneath his sunlit face

lies a fear not taught but instilled deep.

Not that of hidden caves and ghostly heights,

but that of blood and loss and death

 

because no magic can bring back the dead.

No lie can change the past.

No words can erase the pain.

Memories forever last.

 

The static of a thousand rays

captured in the tear

of a heartbeat,

a silent scream ripping through the swallowed air.

 

A nightmarish fracture of the jagged gunshot.

Eyes grappling through the sudden bang

of lost light,

a broken black cloud forever expanding, consuming.

 

The pounding of a vacant heartbeat

drowning in a web of trying lies.

Tangled voices pushing through

the rest of his life blown right by.

 

We read these stories,

a country restless and upset.

We grieve, we call for change,

then our lives push and we move on.

When the Clocks Stop (Excerpt)

When silence fills a room, the tick of one clock can be louder than a heartbeat. The steady sound of the seconds passing fills empty air with a melancholy cloud of missing time.

But then, if one clock is a heartbeat, fifty is a thunderclap.

The largest clock was set above the fireplace, its large face counting over the proceedings of the room like some sort of eternal judge, heavy hands rusted and numbers chipped and faded. Its edges were yellowed like paper, and justice squeaked in its spinning gears, friendly and stern.

Below it on the mantle, a much newer clock stood stiffly: white and pristine with dashes circling its face instead of numbers. Its hands were long and narrow, ticking with noisy efficiency, primly aware that it was wound just a bit too tight.

The grandfather clock stood in the corner, solemnly counting the seconds, dust gathering at its feet.

Shining mahogany faces gleamed from the ceiling, twins, ticking faster and faster, competing with each other’s balance of numbers.

Dozens of other clocks lined the walls, varying in shape, size, and color. The ticking rang out from every corner, some quick and desperate, others seeming almost despondent, but all somehow exactly on time, up to the very second.

The man who sat in the center of the room muttered to himself as he dug through a small pile of tools. Secrets whirled about him, brushing against him, begging for his attention, but he waved them away.

His hands never stopped moving, searching through the pile while dragging his fingers agitatedly through his hair. He tapped along to the ticking, still muttering under his breath. He gave a frustrated sigh, and the largest clock whirred questioningly.

“When I was young,” Arkwright informed the clocks, his eyes heavy with the weight of thousands of years, “I wondered why people grew old. Silly thing to do, I thought. Why let time control you?”

It was strange, really, how someone could look so young and so old all at once. Eternity blossomed before his face, dancing before his eyes.

“Old is one thing. Ancient is quite another.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and dissolving the illusion.

The twin clocks on the ceiling exchanged worried ticks as he continued, motioning grandly with one arm. “You grow old from too much living. You become ancient from too much time; that’s the secret. Too much time and not enough life to fill it.”

“Timekeeper. You’re rambling again.” He turned to see Eldon standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the light pouring out behind him.

Arkwright arranged his face into an innocent expression. “Am I? I suppose so. Can’t be helped.” He looked ruefully around him at the spare bits and broken bobs scattered on the floor. “Life is relative, my friend. Time plays with fools by being generous.” The prim little clock on the mantle hummed in annoyance. “You would know that, of course.” He fiddled idly with a scrap of metal, turning it over in his long fingers so it shone in the firelight.

Eldon smiled sadly. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Arkwright muttered under his breath, studying the brass scrap, “of course. Nothing is ‘of course.’ Some things are ‘possibly.’ Some things are ‘maybe.’ Nothing is ‘of course.’ Nothing can be that certain, can it? You blink and it’s gone. It never lasts.”

“It just disappears.” Eldon’s voice was sympathetic, almost pitying.

“Disappears? No. Flickers.” The Timekeeper drew out a pair of spectacles, balancing them precariously on his nose. He rubbed the brass with his thumb. “Like a candle.”

Eldon closed the door gently and approached the man sitting on the floor. “A candle?” he asked.

Arkwright resolutely turned his back on Eldon. “A candle,” he agreed, waving a hand vaguely behind him. “You know. Burning down the wick, dripping wax, dancing on the edge of oblivion.” He looked up from the scrap for a second, peering deep into space. “Surviving merely to be extinguished.” The grandfather clock creaked in agreement, its peeling, painted numbers looking sad and lonely.

Eldon picked up a shard of twisted glass which lay on the table and held it up to his eye. “Well,” he said, “if you see it that way.”

Arkwright hesitated, still studying the opposite wall over the top of his spectacles, before adjusting them and returning to the scrap. “Yes, well. There’s no other way for me to see it. I live from my point of view.”

Eldon grinned openly at this response. “As do we all.”

The fire popped and crackled as it burned lower. Arkwright deposited the brass scrap absentmindedly on the floor, picking up a coiled spring. “So. Come to kill me again?” he inquired politely. He asked the question in such a matter-of-fact tone he might have been discussing the weather, but the ticking around them gained a more ominous note, speeding up an infinitesimal amount.

The grin fell from Eldon’s face, and he seemed to age ten years as looked down at his hands, replying finally, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Oh no, not like that!” Eldon looked up in time to see the Timekeeper climb to his feet. “Chin up! If you’re going to kill me, at least be confident about it! You haven’t lost faith in this old game of ours, have you? No.”

Eldon sighed. “If you would stop being so bloody cheerful about it, it might make a difference.” A squat, grey clock near the floor groaned in agreement, and Eldon half-glanced at it.

“Oh! Sorry.” Arkwright tried to arrange his face into something more suited to the situation. “Better?”

“Not really.”

“Mm.” Arkwright bobbed his head distractedly, before straightening up, folding his spectacles and slipping them back into a pocket. “Right. Better get it over with, then. Do you have a plan this time, or are you merely going to ‘wing it,’ as they say?”

“Listen, could you not do that?”

“What?”

“You know. That.”

The Timekeeper raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“Your whole crazy, cheerful babbling act. What part of ‘kill you’ did you not understand?”

Arkwright, however, was now ignoring him. He had directed his attention instead to a particularly small clock, whose hands looked limp and feeble. Its ticking had slowed, and the seconds were out of step with the others. The noise in the room grew quieter as the Timekeeper put a hand on its face, fingers tracing the tiny numbers gently as he muttered words of encouragement. The clock was small, with a shell-colored rim and innocent numerals circling the edges.

Eldon watched curiously. He had done this time and time again (Ha. he thought weakly, Time and time again. How accurate.) but this was new. New was rare for him these days, but, he justified, that’s the price I pay.

The clock squeaked mournfully, and Eldon noticed that Arkwright’s hands were shaking slightly and he stroked the clock face. Now that’s definitely new.

This was the first time Eldon had seen anything but a smile on the Timekeeper’s face. Worry creased Arkwright’s brow, and every miniscule line on his face grew more pronounced. The firelight played on the bags under his eyes, casting dark shadows over his face.

The ticking of the other clocks was barely more than a whisper as time slowed down. The tiny clock shivered violently, nearly falling out of the wall altogether, but Arkwright held it in place, still muttering under his breath.

As Eldon watched, the Timekeeper pressed a gentle finger against the second hand, stopping it completely. The room was silent in shock, as even the other clocks forgot what they were supposed to be doing.

Arkwright stood slowly, turning to face his other clocks, who hastily resumed ticking. As he returned his gaze to Eldon, his true age seemed to be written all over his young face. His pale eyes were filled with a determined fire: ancient, grief-stricken, and ever so slightly furious. He turned his gaze on Eldon, who took a step back involuntarily, filled with the unmistakable feeling of witnessing the calm before a storm. The Timekeeper spread his arms wide, and said quietly to his killer, “Get it over with. We have work to do.”

Eldon glanced nervously at the other clocks, but they ignored him, concentrating only on counting the silent seconds as they passed. A gunshot echoed through the room, and as the Timekeeper fell, the clocks stopped for the second time that day.

 

Lost

I was born into an endless maze,

like the one people drag pencils through.

Dawning a facade of hope each night,

waking to the same walls unmoved.

 

The thick grey hedges grew tall,

taller each day.

Not a sunlit filter of leaves

but a wall opaque and faint.

 

Everything an ebbing deception.

A brilliant ray of contrasting white,

the sudden edge of a greying shadow

objects of failing imagination.

 

Looking to the sky to the soaring birds,

yearning to be but themselves

as the stars ice over darkness

into a blissful escape they delve

 

and realize

 

the reason for the dark clouds

raining tears of bitter memory,

is that we live no longer in a maze

but a circle –– of loss, of poverty.

 

The paths that stray

are clouded with mist,

leading only to pain

still penniless.

 

The teardrop lets go its final thread

and it sends a ripple across the sky.

The sun cast its response,

shooting a ray wide and high.

 

Perhaps we claim this flash blinds our narrow minds,

or the mist clouds our earnest sight,

or the rain closes our parochial hearts,

or the darkness forbids our competent height.

 

Yet all are lies,

but the fault lies not within our sense,

but within our mind

where we refuse to make amends.

 

Forever in this cornerless circle,

first step they walked, first day they talked

homeless, powerless and jobless,

only hope and love they sought.

 

A pencil in hand,

a hedge axe on our side,

yet we stand

immobilized.

Destinations

 It lies on the dusty shelf of the living room

coffee table.

A placeholder

to fill in the empty grey spaces

when guests arrive.

Woven navy cover

dark threads containing

the shy, protruding spine

and fading gold gilded letters:

Atlas of the World.

You’d flip through the thick sections

when there was nothing to do,

and the sky was so heavy,

and the sunlight so strained.

It suffocated your thoughts,

but those pages weren’t like those cheap paperbacks

you’d find, discarded in a bookstore’s pungent corner.

They were almost… alive,

heavy, smooth, warm under your fingertips.

The strong steady blue

punctuated by splashes of blooming land,

rough borders that embrace

like long lost lovers.

You’d turn through those maps

and they would breathe shaky swallows,

rattling the house,

tearing down the rafters,

whispering of places that are waiting,

wild, green, and patient

for you.

Umber (Excerpt)

Chapter One

She walked out of the room, tears still pouring down her face. It was her fault, all her fault, that no one had come back. She had been the one to convince them. She told them it would be an adventure. Then she had backed out; she had been too scared to go. Her brother, her sister, her parents went on while she stayed home awaiting their return. No bodies were ever found.

She had lost everything that day, and now had to turn to the one person she had sworn to never turn to. She despised herself every day for having to turn to him. She hadn’t seen him since her parents had told him to get out of the house. They had shouted at him that he was a traitor and he was no son of theirs. She had been a mere eight-year-old, and had watched the scene through the crack in the door. She watched the feet storm around the small room as if in some strange ethereal dance.

“Miss?”

She turned, her tangled black hair whipping and almost hitting him in the face. He took a step back and she gave a small nod in apology.

“You forgot this,” he handed her a crisp white envelope and she tried not to let her fear at this trivial mistake show.

“Thank you.” Her small, but crisp voice rang through the silent hallway. She tried to sound as though she didn’t care, as though she had no feelings. She tried to hide all her emotions, and for a moment, it was as though the crack in her heart that had started when her brother left had broken completely. A moment later it was gone and the man looking at her had to wonder if it had been there at all.

It was as though, for a split second, she actually had traces of humanity left in her. Traces that were otherwise abolished or concealed. Then it was gone, as swiftly as it had come. The shivering man walked back into his office and to the mounds of new, but not entirely unexpected, paperwork that lay before him.

The girl turned and ran her finger over the large scar on her shoulder, then on the smaller ones that dotted both of her arms. A sign of triumph, of success, of bravery. To her, they meant none of that. They were a sign of the cowardice she had shown on one day, and how one small act was all it took to change everything.

She was trying hard to not let the tears show. She wiped them away one more time, adjusted her tank top, and walked through the front doors. She stared at the way people walked away from her. She couldn’t understand why, then she remembered about the large scar that ran in a crescent from eye to lip. It was supposed to show her bravery. She had gotten it from the latest fight and knew it had been broadcasted everywhere. Warrior battles often were. She tried to ignore the stares of gross fascination from linguists, mages, and artisans, as she walked through the heavily populated streets to the train. She pressed her living sector and waited for a purple train to take her away from all the staring eyes and abruptly self-conscious people. Where she was going, no one would look twice at her. She would be just another monotone face in the crowd, and those who did recognize her would know better than to stare.

“Greetings.”

She turned and saw Dane standing next to her. She shoved the dagger, which had been drawn out of instinct, back into her boot and glared at him. He creased his eyebrows slightly, making the scar that ran across his forehead crease. The center of the scab peeled off, making a drop of blood run down his face.

“You know, if you keep doing that, that wound will never heal,” she responded in a hushed voice. He glared at her before doing it again.

“How’d today go?”

“Usual.”

“You mean terrible?”

“Obviously,” she replied sarcastically. Dane was one of three who could detect the fear and anxiety that still traced her voice and he knew instantly why.

“You know, you could have picked another sponsor. I’m sure they’d be lining up to be with you.” Dane’s tone was kind and consoling, but she could sense the hidden bitterness behind those words. He had wanted so badly to be first, he had been born for it. His family had trained him and even at age seven, he had been ranked first even before the ten-year-old recruits.

“Actually, no one else wanted me, thought the battles were all staged.”

“What?” Dane’s voice sounded shocked which barely concealed his savage pleasure at her being turned away.

“He blackmailed them all, I expect, so they’ll have to go with the next best, which just so happens to be you.” Her voice was listless, hopeless, and defeated. A tone no warrior with any pride would ever use. Dane was shocked at the way she gave up. He didn’t know her past. Didn’t know why the girl dreaded being anywhere close to her new sponsor. All he knew was that he could have a chance at beating his best friend.

He stared at her as she responded with a weak nod, then looked out to the dead grass and fallen trees that accompanied every train ride.

The sky was a strange greenish yellow color today. It had changed slightly from the green-grey that it had been for the last few weeks. She stared at it for awhile, watching the swirling clouds and flashing sun. In between two clouds, she could just make out the exploding star in the distance.

She remembered sitting up on the roof with her brother and sister. A single tear slipped out of her eye and dropped onto the floor. Dane looked at her, but didn’t move. He knew better than to move.

She brushed past the others, ignoring their shouts of indignation. She didn’t care what they thought; they all knew she could beat them to an inch of their life if she wanted to.

“Bye then.” Dane’s voice was a forced monotone that she knew all too well.

They are watching us, always, and we can’t help you although we wish we could, was what she forced into her mind, as she fought to keep another wave of tears back.

“Bye,” she said, choked up, then ran back towards her house. She couldn’t believe that she was crying in public. The last time she had done that was when she was eight. When she learned the price of her cowardice.

She sprinted past people, turning one way and another. They all had some marks on them, at least one mark that showed they were warriors. They got their first on the day they were taken from their families. At age eight, a person is deemed whether they are to stay with their family and be trained, or if they are to be ripped away screaming and become a warrior or a chieftain. As a warrior, you are trained rigorously, without rest, to become the perfect soldier, to think of no one. They are human after all, so society accepts they can not be perfect. So, they must only be imperfect with other warriors. No artisans, linguists, mages, and most importantly, no chieftains can see them weak. As for chieftains training, everyone would rather be a warrior, even if it means certain death.

The girl lay on her bed, thinking about her family. They knew something. She had decided that, who had told the government that they knew? The answer came to her lips effortlessly, the person she despised the most, the person she had sworn never to talk to again, the person who was now her sponsor. Him… she couldn’t think about him anymore. She couldn’t go back to who shewho they both used to be.

She jumped up abruptly and the unsturdy building shook with her. Below, she heard the sounds of startled warriors jumping to their feet as well. She had shown so much weakness that, had she not been the best fighter in Umber, she would have been eradicated. Glancing in the mirror, she stood shocked at her face, it was white with streaks of red showing where her red tears had fallen.

Her eyes were a bloodshot blue, and her black hair was lying knotted and messy but almost perfectly straight. With her blood red lips she looked like a vampire. Letting out a soft laugh at the thought of vampires, she grabbed her washing basin. Her face returned to its usual pale white and her eyes were already shifting back to its dark swirling purple.

She stared into her own eyes and felt as though she was being transported to another place. A place where she would be safe. A place where she could be happy. A place where she could do whatever she wanted. The thought of safety was so comforting that she started smiling. Then she realized it was all fake. She was not safe. They saw everything, heard everything, knew what everyone was thinking. The illusion of safety was all it ever would be, an illusion. Even her closest friends couldn’t be trusted. They had all been trained with one instinct burned into every sinew of every muscle, of every cell, of every bone in their bodies survival of the fittest.

She walked out, sword swinging menacingly on her hip and watched as warriors nodded to her, acknowledging her record time to return to unfeeling. It was a bit of a game between them, who could recover the fastest after a weakening. She smirked to herself, she had beat her own record by 13 minutes.

“Warriors!” They all turned as one to see a mage standing in the center of the commons. It was a grassy field where the warriors practiced in their free time. A mage had set up an enchantment where anyone who died on the field would resurrect a few minutes later. She grinned faintly to herself, this would be interesting.

“At the end of this week, we are starting the Tournament.”

Murmurs of excitement rippled throughout the commons. The Tournament happens once every four years. During the Tournament warriors take longer to come back the more they are killed during the games. If you are killed too many times, you never come back. It removes the weakest, leaving only the strongest alive.

The girl smirked and snorted softly to herself. She planned to win to prove she wasn’t weak, to prove the death of her family made her stronger, not weaker. To prove that she was stronger than who she used to be.

Save Me For I Am Amazing

Dear Great One, a.k.a. the one who brought me into existence… using a wonderful ballpoint pen,

I regret to “inform” you that I fear I am to die soon, but as the writer of my tale, my dear, you knew that already. I implore you to reconsider my upcoming demise. After all, you gave me a family to love and cherish, despite my obvious abandonment issues. I know that I have been fortunate the last two years of my life, what with overcoming my obvious abandonment issues and finding people who love me and will continue to love me as much as I love them. Ahhhh, I remember the days when the unrequited love I felt was a daily occurrence. Thanks to you it ‘twas not to be. And I know I should not be pestering you with my problem, DEATH, but really DEATH.

We both are aware of your disorganized persona, but we also are both led to believe you need to be organized because you are afraid of the messy world. Due to our, shall we say, looming abandonment issues. One last thing before I list all the reasons why you shouldn’t kill me, because I fear you won’t be convinced and then I will DIE without my last question having been answered. I will die with my last question just a whisper in the night. My last question is… did you give me abandonment issues because of yours? Because that would be a truly horrible fate for me just because of your trifles in life. Without further ado,

My list:

  1. I am a good listener.
  2. I am sarcastic. Amusingly so.
  3. I am not rude to anyone but you.
  4. I have abandonment issues, so take pity on a kind soul.
  5. I have shown others what little love there is in my heart.
  6. I am observant.
  7. I am the first character you ever loved to write about and created a happily ever after for.

Sincerely,

The Person You Love To Hate

 

Post Scriptum: your readers love me more than you so they will abandon you and add to your abandonment issues.

***

Dear Declan (pronounced the clan),

I noticed that you didn’t include your actual name in your letter. I regret to “inform” you, even though you already knew this, I detest your ambiguity. I can see you laughing right now because we both know you are just a figment of my imagination, yet I am talking to you. That doesn’t make me crazy… right? Okay, now I am officially insane. You go off your meds for one day. And now you are shaking your head and laughing. STOP! You are displaying an utter disregard for my feelings on the subject of my craziness. Now, I see you shaking your head amusedly at my mumblings.

You got me sidetracked. The point of me taking time out of my busy day of book signings, meet and greets, and meetings about a movie deal — might I add, to show you the time I don’t have for you — was to address your inquiries as to your death. So, I am going to kill you off. I guess I am sorry to see you go, but think of all the buzz. Buzz like the swarm of bees that are going to kill you. Buzz sparked by the inevitable distress of my — sorry — your fans. The fangirls will write alternate endings,  freak out, and blog or whatever else their kind does. My — sorry again — your fans will not abandon me due to your death because that would mean abandoning you. You are me after all, but only a small part. That is how I know that you are currently going on and on about how I make you feel insecure about your worth. Also, your list was bothersome because you didn’t list any reasons. Author to author your argument was weak and not very put together. I assume that your sub par writing stems from writing in an idyllic world where your writing is not critiqued and scrutinized down to the use of a comma in the 52nd sentence of your 5th book. Also, you are a man, that probably helps matters.

I might as well answer your last question. I am so glad I get to say that because I was never going to get a break from your nagging. I did not give you abandonment issues because of my own, so stop being so dramatic. Woman up!

In conclusion, watch out for the buzzing in your ears.

                       

Sincerely,

The Woman Warning You About the Bees

 

My dear, one last thing before you can’t hear me anymore: don’t EVER address me as my dear, it is condescending.

Arilla and Endar

Arilla had always been a writer, but always struggled with finding an inspiration. Going to the local coffee shop certainly helped with her creativity, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough. She had thought about using the strange, lilac colored man as her muse, but she could never work up the courage to ask him for his consent.

For two entire years, the man would be at the coffee shop every time Arilla went. At first, she was slightly concerned about it, but eventually realized it must have just been a major coincidence. She knew the man wasn’t stalking her or anything like that, because she had never seen anyone who remotely looked like him outside of the shop. She wondered (only a few times when she was sleep deprived) if she could be stalking him, but once she got coffee into her system, ridiculous thoughts like that were banished from her mind. Once Arilla was done being paranoid, she realized that there were a few other regulars that she saw all the time, so she knew it wasn’t all that odd for both her and the lilac man to inhabit the shop every morning. Even after she knew she had nothing to be afraid of or nervous about, she still felt weird about asking the man, a stranger, to be her muse for a new character. It wasn’t a question that people knew how to answer. Probably because it had never been asked before. Arilla certainly didn’t want to ask that of a random stranger.

Arilla knew nothing about the man, other than the fact that his skin was lilac and his hair was dark. But, because of how much the question and her lack of inspiration tormented her, she began to discreetly observe the little things about him. Not like a stalker would do, Arilla told herself, but like what a journalist or other writers would do. Her observations made it clear that he was an artist. He constantly had charcoal and ink smudged hands as well as paint-stained clothes. Arilla also determined that his eyes were a light grey color, which complimented his black, almost blue, hair quite nicely. In no time at all, she learned many things about him, all of which translated well into a written character. Of course, there were still gaping holes in the knowledge she had of him, so she decided to finally act. Her decision took up to a full month, but that’s neither here nor there.

Her nerves ate away at her as she got up from her seat and made her way toward his table. Unfortunately, that made her unfocused, which lead to her crashing into the very same man she had wanted to talk to. This meant that not only was she more embarrassed than she would have been, but coffee splashed all over her, and the papers that the man must have been holding littered the floor.

They both muttered curses and attempted to help each other. Arilla leaned down to pick up the man’s scattered mess, and he reached over to a vacant table to grab some napkins for Arilla’s own mess.

“I am so sorry!” Arilla’s face burned bright. “I was actually walking to your booth to talk to you, but I was nervous because what I want to say to you is really strange, and it might weird you out-” The man’s chuckling interrupted Arilla’s rambling.

“It’s alright,” he handed her the napkins. “I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Arilla reddened even more. “Um, here are your… sketches?” She tried to peer at the stack of paper she was holding before handing them over.

“Thanks,” the man smiled, trying to obscure them from her view.

“Is that me?” She gasped, pointing to the top sheet of paper.

“Well… they kind of all are,” He winced. “You’ve been my muse recently, which is weird, I know.”

“Wow, they’re amazing,” Her eyes widened in awe. “But what’s really weird is that you’ve been a muse to me, but as a character. I’m a writer, not an artist.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Surely I’m not that interesting.”

“No, you very much are,” Arilla assured him. “But, a character that interesting needs a name.”

“I think Endar suits him,” He held out his hand.

Arilla shook it. “You know, I think that’s an amazing name for him.”

“I’ll need the author’s name, so I can be sure I’m buying the right book,” Endar grinned.

“Hmm, I believe it might just be Arilla.”

“Well, Arilla, it’s great to finally put a name to the face I’ve seen on a regular basis for two years. It’s funny, but I did once think you were stalking me with how much I saw you.”

“Likewise.”

Jack and the Beanstalk – A Crime Drama

At rise the scene is set in a courtroom, with the JUDGE upstage center, BAILIFF upstage left, and PROSECUTOR downstage right.

 

JUDGE

All rise!

     (Walks up to bench, sits down)

Court is now in session. We are hearing the case of “State v Jack G. Killer.” Mr. Killer is on trial for charges of murder, theft, breaking and entering, Reckless Endangerment and Extremely Unusual Botany Experimentation without Permit, destruction of property, and possession of illicit beans. Mr Killer pleads not guilty on all charges. We will now hear the murder charge.

 

PROSECUTOR

Mr. Killer came into the home of Mr. Giant, with intentions to steal his golden goose. Upon finding the thief, Mr. Giant went in pursuit to reclaim his stolen property. Seeing he was chased, Mr Killer brutally murdered Mr. Giant with an axe by slicing his illegally grown beanstalk causing Mr. Giant to fall to his death. For my witness I call Mrs. Giant!

 

Ms. GIANT

     (Enters from upstage left and walks to upstage center next to JUDGE. BAILIFF approaches with book of Nursery Rhymes.)

I swear upon the Holy Book of Mother Goose that I will tell the truth, and only the truth.

     (BAILIFF returns to previous stage position.)

 

PROSECUTOR  

Mrs. Giant, would you describe what happened the day your husband was murdered?

 

Ms. GIANT

Well I was just sitting down having a cup of tea and my favorite bread made from the bones of farm-raised children, when all of a sudden I hear my husband go Fee-Fi-FO-FUM and I thought “oh, he’s probably lost the remote again.” But I see him chasing after this human boy and saying “He stole my goose! Get the oven heated up!” and I said “ah, do it yourself.” And the next thing I know, he’s climbing down the beanstalk when (points to Jack and screams) THIS KILLER cut the beanstalk down!

 

PROSECUTOR  

Thank you, you may be seated. I call the Golden Goose to the stand.

 

     (MS. GIANT nods and exits the stage from the same way she came. The GOLDEN GOOSE enters from the same side and takes the same position by the JUDGE at upstage center. BALIFF brings the book of Nursery Rhymes.)

 

JUDGE  

Do you swear upon the Holy Book of Mother Goose that you will tell the truth, and only the truth?

 

GOLDEN GOOSE  

What? My mudda? You want to swear on my mudda?

 

PROSECUTOR  

Never mind, let’s get going. Tell us about the day in question.

 

GOOSE  

So listen, I was just sittin’ there mindin’ my own business when this kids comes up and says “Hey, can I have your golden eggs,” and I says “you know the boss kinda wants the eggs for himself he makes mean huevos rancheros” and he says “I’m poor you could help me out! I’ll set you free!” and I think “Free? What a dream!” So I says, “Let’s make like a tree and get out of here.

 

     (JACK’S LAWYER approaches the bench.)

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

So you wanted to leave? You left on your own free will?

 

GOOSE  

Yeah! I was laying two, three eggs a day! It’s hard work! And to make them gold? I had to eat those chocolate gold coins with the wrappers.

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

That doesn’t sound too bad.

 

GOOSE  

I’m allergic to chocolate!

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

Okay, you can step off. I call Mr Lima Bean to the stand.

 

     (GOOSE exits stage same way they came, BEAN DEALER takes same route and position next to the JUDGE.)

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

Mr. Bean please state your occupation for the record.

 

BEAN DEALER  

I didn’t do it.

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

I didn’t ask that that. What is your job?

 

BEAN DEALER  

I didn’t do it.

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

The witness is a known underground bean dealer, your honor. He’s served time twice before.

 

BEAN DEALER  

I didn’t do it.

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

Please sir, indulge me. What can you tell us about Jack, this beanstalk, and the murder of Mr. Giant?

 

BEAN DEALER  

He did it.

 

JACK’S LAWYER (Stage whispering)

That’s not what we agree for you to say when I gave you a thousand gold coins!

 

BEAN DEALER  

I didn’t do it.

 

JUDGE  

That’s enough! Next witness.

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

I call Mrs. Killer, the defendant’s mother, to the stand!

 

Mrs. KILLER

My son is innocent! He shouldn’t even be here! He’s too stupid to know any better!

 

JACK (from off-stage)

Hey, I object!

 

Mrs. KILLER

Shut up, Jack! You were always a hard boy to raise! Always galavanting about the countryside, getting into trouble, meeting shady characters like this bean dealer–

 

BEAN DEALER  

I didn’t do it.

 

Mrs. KILLER

–and killing giants! I should have never given you the middle name of Giant, but I was compelled by the fairy tale to do it!

 

JACK’S LAWYER  

Um, ok, you can sit down now, Mrs. Killer.

 

Mrs. KILLER  

Shut up, you lawyer! Don’t tell me to sit down! Oh I should’ve never thrown those stupid beans out of the window in the first place and the stupid beanstalk would’ve never grown!”

 

OTHER CAST + JUDGE  

     (gasp)

 

JUDGE  

Well, looks like we’re done here. Mrs Killer, you are sentenced to give back any golden eggs and pay a fine of one thousand gold coins.

 

JACK  (off-stage)

Hey, but we’re poor!

 

JUDGE  

Shut up, Jack! You should’ve thought about that before cutting down the beanstalk. In light of these revelations, you will not be sentenced to a public beheading anymore. You will, instead serve 10 years in jail. For you Mrs Killer, you will forever be sentenced to eating only beans for the rest of your miserable life!

 

You’ll Walk Into A Bar

You’re standing by a table in the corner of the room, nursing a cup of cider and trying not to stand out. People around you are talking and moving around and, in one instance, singing. You consider sitting down at the table, but the group already there would probably try to include you in conversation, so you don’t.

A huge guy winds over to the table. He catches your eye and smiles at you, then disappears suddenly from view. There’s a crashing sound and a muffled curse as the man hits the ground. Without thinking, you step forward to see if he’s okay.

He’s sitting on the floor, looking very sheepish.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says. He takes your hand and pulls himself upright. “I’m Axel.”

“Greg,” you say. Axel’s eyes are deep brown, and there’s a small tattoo on his wrist. He looks behind him and frowns slightly at the table leg.

“That wasn’t very smooth,” he admits.

“I’ve seen smoother,” you agree. “Are you sure you’re alright? That sounded like a hard fall.”

Axel dismisses this with a wave of his hand. “I fall a lot. It wasn’t that bad. Nothing broken.”

“You spilled your drink,” you observe. “Can I buy you another one?” You aren’t sure exactly where this is coming from.

Axel’s face lights up. “I would love that.”

° ° °

You’ll walk into a bar. You’ll go up to the bartender and say, “I’d like a beer.”

The bartender will frown at you. “ID?”

You’ll smile nervously. “C’mon.”

She’ll roll her eyes, gesture at the door. You won’t move. “Out,” she’ll say. You’ll pretend not to hear her. She’ll beckon to the bouncer, expecting you to get the hint. You won’t. She’ll shrug. “Your choice, pal.” You’ll be escorted out of the bar.

You’ll struggle, but you’re only 5’4” and the bouncer, like most bouncers, is as tall as a mountain. So you’ll be lifted out and dropped on the curb. The bouncer, whose name is Axel, will sit down next to you, sigh, and drag a paw-like hand over his face.

“What the hell are you doing here, Greg?” he’ll ask.

You’ll shrug. “I’m getting a drink.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” You won’t say anything. He’ll wait, then shake his head at you. “I work at this bar. I work here.” He’ll rub at his forehead, sigh again. “You know I work here.”

You’ll carefully avoid his eyes, looking instead at your beat up pink Toms. But you’ll feel his irritation. He’ll exhale and push himself up. He’ll turn to go back into the bar.

“Axel,” you’ll say.

He’ll stop walking. “Greg. I need to get back to work.”

“I miss you.” You won’t mean to say it until you do.

“I know.” His voice will be soft, a gentle rumble and a gentle phrase. You’ll wait, hoping for something more, but instead the door of the bar will open, then swing shut.

After a moment, you’ll get up. You’ll push your bangs out of your eyes and take a deep breath. You won’t cry. You won’t. You’ll want to (you always want to), but you won’t.

You’ll feel trapped. You’ll want to claw your way out of the feeling, but you won’t be able to.

So you’ll walk. Quickly, arms wrapped around your torso like they’re holding you together.

You’ll walk down the sidewalk. Past the family owned shoe store that they’ll have converted into a Starbucks, past the swing set where you used to sit with pretty eyed boys and spill all your secrets for a kiss, past what feels like everything.

You’ll walk to the end of the street. And you’ll stop. And you’ll breathe. You won’t think about the dumbass thing you just did.

Once you feel like you can trust your mind and your legs, you’ll sit down on the curb. The tight feeling won’t be gone, but you’ll pretend that it is. Sometimes that works, and this will be one of those sometimes.

You’ll open your phone and tap out I’m sorry, then delete it before you can hit send. I’m sorry won’t fix how many times you’ll have shown up uninvited (unwanted) in his life. You’ll understand that.

° ° °

You blink.

“Greg? You alright?” Axel asks.

“Yeah…yeah,” you reply. You shake your head. It feels like cobwebs are draped over your thoughts. Axel still looks concerned. “I’m fine,” you add. “I just zoned out for a minute.”

“Yeah, you looked pretty out of it.” He takes a sip of his drink. “What were you thinking of?”

“The future, I guess,” you say.

Axel smiles. “The future, huh. What about it?”

You shrug. “Axel…” You stop. “I’ve got to go.”

“Oh, alright.” He looks puzzled, but he says nothing and stands up with you. “Here, I’ll give you my number.” He writes it down on a piece of newspaper and hands it to you. “Call me, okay?”

“I will.” You won’t.

You take one look back when you get to the door. Axel’s watching you, and you quickly push the door open and step outside.

It’s better this way. You understand that.

Wishful Thinking

“‘Hello, my name is Steve. I am a male underwear model, so I know how to strike a pose!’…and that’s when I just wink and point my fingers like guns and…. BAM I got myself a girlfriend!!”

I circle the word “Goal!” on my notebook and start twiddling my pencil between my fingers and think, No, no that’s waaay too cheesy. Darn! At this rate I’m never gonna get myself a girlfriend! Plus my name’s not even Steve. Why did it have to be the uncool name, Swanhilde! Along with this lame name comes my short height which would never make me a model! Arg, I just about have the WORST luck in the world! Maybe I should just give up and become a priest or something. At least that way I would have a legitimate reason as to why I don’t have a girlfriend… Ugh, but being a priest would be so exhausting! I mean, keeping the secrets of people’s bad deeds and repeating the same lines over and over again everyday is definitely not for me. Okay, okay, I just need to take a few breathers, calm down, and think of a plan that would actually work; because at this rate I’ll never get a girlfriend by the end of high school!

…Alright so it’s already been 30 minutes, and I still can’t think of anything better. I mean now my mind has somehow wandered into the realm of cheesy pickup lines with the horrible catastrophes, “Are you a banana? Because I find you a-peeling,” or even, “You’re so beautiful that you made me forget my pickup line.” Now I’m starting to feel as though something’s wrong with me. All those years of being raised under the constant torture of my dad’s bad jokes is probably finally getting to me.

I stop to seriously think for a minute, then finally a brilliant idea pops in my head.

“Maybe it’s about time I got some professional help,” I proclaim.

I grab my phone out of my pocket, swipe through the contacts and stop at that beautiful name, Jacob a.k.a. the Love Expert. This guy has dated tons of girls; he’s dated girls in our high school, girls from different high schools, girls that currently go to college, and girls that are out of college and working. He is definitely my idol; the man who will hopefully one day turn my name from Swanhilde to Suavehilde. Although none of his relationships have ever worked out…but that’s not the point. The point is that he has experience. Wow, I never thought I could ever associate that word with dating, but it’s all because of that truly divine man, Jacob. I quickly dial his number, press the call button, and begin listening to those lull rings as I anticipate that “Hello?” when the love expert picks up and can finally answer all of my prayers… But instead I find myself with his voicemail and decide to politely leave a message asking him to call me back.

Alright, so it seems that so far I have not made any progress at all, and all I’ve been doing is sitting at my desk for a few hours thinking of nothing but pure nonsense. At this rate there’s no way I’ll ever get a girlfriend, I should probably give up on such wishful thinking for now. I guess it would be a good time to commence the backup plan. I scrummage through my backpack and whip out my true bae, my Nintendo DS. I insert my pokemon game, the screen begins to glow, and that beautiful theme song begins to play. Well, I may not be able to catch the ladies’ hearts, but I know for sure that I am a master at catching pokemon! I flop on my bed and play until I fall asleep. Jeez, being a teenager is exhausting.

Untitled

Let me tell you a story

About a girl who died

But that’s not the start

No, we can’t begin there

She was silent, immortal

Until she collapsed into

A deep trance, a spell

Love, it’s called

And she was held its victim

 

Yet even further back

To when she was innocent

Fate was her name

She lived alone in a house

A house in the middle of dreamland

When she awoke at dusk

The promise of imaginary nights

Was kept by the minds of children

Children, sleeping, unaware of her watching

Of her sending nightmares

To their dream catchers, eagerly waiting

To ensnare her choices

She perches on the windowsill

On the glowing, teal night

Dusted with stars in the false sky above

She twiddles a razor, sighs once or twice

Rolls up her silky sleeve

Creamy folds soon bloodstained

As she matches silver with red

Letting crimson drip into a bottomless inkwell

With the touch of her fingertip

Her scars are a faint reminder

Of the pain she once felt

She returns inside

Bare feet padding ghostly

She does not exist

If only you fail to believe

 

She sits at a wooden desk

Old, dark, and worn

Candlelit with her feather quill

And pure pages of a blank book

She dips the pen into the ocean

Oceans of her life’s memories

The inkwell, so rich

Teeming with all she is

Draws the blooming, velvet roses

Growing in the eternal gardens of heaven and hell

Her tears are the snow

Falling swiftly downward now

The ink swirls, the vines twist

Curved designs implanted in stone

Every twilight, she arises from death

To finish what she began

Picking up on last night’s work

Crows shooting from the lips of liars

Wingless angels blessing the cursed

A blank-faced reaper lighting the path

 

Yet still, nothing may be forever

And soon enough, she, in one slumber

Met a boy

Fair and tall, gentle and kind

When her hollow eyes locked

With his, filled with dread

All seemed to stop

All seemed to cease

They were soulmates, she knew

Tied with a thread

She had stitched it herself

After all, she was Fate

She had chosen to die

A peaceful passing

If only she knew

How much love really hurts

So she asked him his name

And gave hers in return

He had said he was no one

No one of great importance

“Well,” Fate said to no one

“You’re someone to me.”

The years passed like days

As Fate became a myth

She began to fade away

Without her inkings, her drawings

Of the world she creates

She became nothing

Fully dissolved when he asked for her hand

She accepted with pride

Unbeknownst to her, she was mortal at last

 

In a torn gown of moonlight

Slippers of shattered glass

Heart-shaped necklace of stone

She walked down the aisle

With every step, her lungs caught

She soon struggled to breathe

Her fingertips, once teeming

With the power to heal

Now aged with use

Wrinkled like satin

And the worst of all, I have yet to spare

Like a porcelain doll, she began to crack

Pale skin tearing with jagged lines

Lightning bolts darting across a stormy sky

And from each of these scars, blood would ooze

Leaking out and staining

Her lovely wedding dress

And when she reached her love

At the end of the aisle

He was of the same

Yet both, they still smiled

Phantom spiders crept

Through the locks of her midnight hair

Rain crabs prodded

Around his shiny, black boots

But when they kissed, it was gone

Everything was

For they had crumbled to ashes

As time always does

 

To this day, her book sits unread

Pages like white lilies dreaming of feather pens

Never to be touched again

Silver blade discarded

Fallen outside her window

Fate is no more

And Time, he is gone, as well

That is the tragic tale

Of a no one

Who found a someone

Until death do us part

Rest in peace, my love

Two Excerpts from Leo and the Lima Bean

Excerpt One:

 

I sit in my bed reading Fudge by Judy Blume. I remember in third grade it was my favorite book. I would read it every day, over and over again. It felt right saying that Lila, my sister, was a little bit like Fudge from the book. I didn’t say that to any of my family members. I guess you can say that my mom and dad have always been protecting Lila. Whenever I jokingly say, “Oh, Lila. I guess you are going to be a mean old witch when you grow up!” My parents are always like, “Leo this kind of stuff can hurt someone mentally as a child and then affect how you are when you grow up.” It’s pretty funny some of the stuff she does, but if I say one word… Poof… There goes all my allowance for the next month.

When I was Lila’s age, my parents left me with 7-year-olds and told them to be careful. Well, they were never careful. And if some older cousin said I had funny ears, then my parents would laugh and say, “Oh yeah, he does have hilarious ears!”

If I said that to Lila, I would probably be in jail. It just goes to show that parents go crazy the second time around.

 

Excerpt Two: In this Excerpt Leo is wondering where his friend Marshal is because he hasn’t seen him all day.

 

It was nine at night and I was trying to figure out where Marshall was. I didn’t think he was at Wilson’s. There was a little alley way between Marshall’s house and my house, and I could see that there was no light in his bedroom. He wasn’t asleep because he always slept with the closet light on. There was no window from my bedroom, but I was down in Lila’s room. She was asleep, so I was trying my best to stay quiet while peering through Lila’s closed curtains. None of the other lights in his house where on, so he was definitely not watching TV or something. As I stepped onto the window sill to get a better look at the closet, a toy that was on the window sill fell to the ground, causing a loud noise followed by the words, “Hi, what’s your name?” coming from the speaking doll now lying on the floor.

“Leo?” I heard an unsure Lila from her bed across the room.

“Hey, Lila,” I said, turning around and facing her. Hair was all over her face as she rubbed her sleepy eyes.

“What are you doing here Leo? It’s-” She turned and looked at her clock.

“I was trying to sleep Lo Lo,” she said slowly as she fell back into her bed.

The Zoobreak

The night the monkeys took the keys

from the belt of a sleeping guard

they escaped into the outside zoo

from which they were previously barred.

 

From the belt of a sleeping guard

escape came to their minds

from which they were previously barred

they went to complete their crimes.

 

Escape came to their minds

they rescued the others too

they went to complete their crimes

in the Great Break of the Zoo.

 

They rescued the others too

from the elephants to the ants

in the Great Break of the Zoo

to the exit they advanced.

 

From the elephants to the ants

the guards saw them coming near

to the exit they advanced

and they could not help but fear

 

The guards saw them coming near

there was no time to make amends

and they could not help but fear

the animals wanted revenge!

 

There was no time to make amends

into cages they were thrown

the animals wanted revenge

they made the zoo their own.

 

Now the zoo is full of animals

and humans are there too.

But the animals are guards-

it is a human zoo.

The Last Moments of a Noble Man

To obtain the quietness of a mournful passing, one must have the grandeur of the coronation of a promising king. The silence is all there needs to be, the warm touch of a predecessor of life, the assurance that a mark is left in continuous progress. Let there be that touch in all that is bonded, for bondage is not to be hidden. The heavy breathing of all that witness, that of the dying, that of the skies, that of the following, it all comes together in unison, a monologue of dreadful sadness, and yet, there is a hearth that lies at the opposite side of the room. The heat is belittled with each passing moment until there is nothing left but ashes, but may these dusty forms represent the eradication of pain, and an epiphany of equilibrium. The silence is a moment of respect that is acquired through the actions in one lifetime. To all that is unsaid, is the greatest triumph of all, formulating an epitaph that feeds on the dripping tears, to make something much greater; a legacy. There is no sound louder than the radiating pound of quietude.

There lies a man flat on a bed, his hackle horrendous, his skin frosty, his eyes a certain color of impassive magnitudes. The hoarseness of his breathing infected the atmosphere with dense tension. For such a small room, with even a blazing fire, the family could not produce enough body heat to thaw the pain from nature’s debt. There is a love to be had, and as great as affection might be, there is a hardship that must be endured. The negative correlations that are lived through the flow of a starry damsel who meanders in the sky, and then takes a good long look at the moon, and realizes that if the beginning of such a beautiful gift known as life can be mysterious, then the embrace of the unknown shall be more inviting to explorers of the edge between reality and fantasy. A paradise is what people crave, an eternity of serenity, though do people deserve such a reward? Those that have silence very much do. Their acts are imprinted in the past, but also an example for the future, and morals, even when altered by different time periods, are never to cease to be. Existence will always gaze down from the patterns in the sky, but nothingness will never have a voice in a universe so filled with pioneering. Such pioneers waltz to the tune they have formed by themselves, as their closest friends and family gaze in amazement and see that the elegance of death is that it is just a phase, much like a benchmark that unlocks a new establishment of freedom.

Some relatives step outside for a break of strain. They see an ensemble of colors that paint their faces with the subtle light of dusk. The variety of colors masterfully splattered on a view most magical for a reality. Some of their fingers tremble and decide to light a cigarette, while others just let the water flow from their eyes, and accept that it is an alleviation from the burden of watching a loved one in pain. None of them interact with each other, for they would not hear each other anyway. The silence could not be talked over; too deafening. The grass grazes their ankles, the wind tickling their ears. They all import this image to a fond memory. An instance of the innocence in youth, a grin, a harmless mischief, a celebrated union. The memories recollect and meet in the span of a few moments, a place taken by the present. To the amazement of the wanderers, they realize that all they craved from the past is put on display at the death of a noble man.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

The man of high honor but no aristocracy traveled to the depths of his memories and remembered believing that what is considered customary is the natural forgetfulness of happy times. Foolish in character, wise in mentality, he was never a boy who sat still, nor a boy who meandered off into abstract proportions. His priorities lay with his mother, a pure nonpareil of justly strictness who made the absolute best pastries in the entire village. A village in Central America where sand sprinkled on the streets, and the breeze of the ocean whipped the faces of the inhabitants. Tall palm trees sprung, blue skies glowed, and clouds enveloped themselves in the warm blueness of serenity. There was a spicery on almost every corner, and on a specific one, the manager installed himself, ready for the day. He pulled a picture out and placed it on his desk every day to remind him of what type of father he was. A father who acted as a jester for the sake of an image of a grinning baby. Both parents devoted themselves to family, both diving in dangers, and both loving every second of it. Any other type of family that considered themselves the epitome of unification were caught with dropped jaws of mediocre conduct when compared to a family such as that of the noble man’s. Were they wealthy? Not too deep in impoverishment, but on the fair side of needing, but not receiving. In fact all that was earned, was given to those who did not know if living the next day was an option. Thrown off by benevolence, the parents came down ill. With money scarce, and a denial of interrupting their alms, proper treatment was but an illusion.

Word of the sudden deaths of the two parents dispersed throughout the village, and so the flood of tears flowed under the gloomy eyes of friends, and rushed into the cracks of the streets. Their ends were not far apart, only a gap of a few days. Though for their son, he crouched on the floor and picked up his mother’s favorite flowers–dahlias. He placed them on both of their caskets and said indistinguishable words. Never were they repeated, until the day of his final gasps.

The orphan had an aunt, a physical replica of his mother, though with ill-founded motives, and abusive teachings. The orphan had more quality time with a belt from auntie’s husband than with the pair during dinner time. There was to be no leisure, and education was said to be a waste of time, a blockade of entering life earlier. The orphan liked to look at books with pictures in them, though he never understood the words on the page. However, even gazing at the books was most punishable in a family of farmers. His mother never had such extremities of either complete neglect, or conscious beating. Mother always rewarded for goodness, and only dare smack him for doing something repulsive. Something against the rules she always made. Father always had a soft spot for his little boy, but he knew there had to be a balance in parenting, a balance that the little boy would never receive.

Quotas were to be met; number of cows milked, berries picked, and fields shredded. No protest was ever uttered by the little boy, until one day he left a scribbly drawing depicting that he was to never return to the household, the household in which he was dying at the very moment.

The boy became a lad through the discovery of starvation and thirst. He joined a group of street kids whose rags matched the dark colors of the ashen streets. They robbed from the central market that placed itself in the grand courtyard in the middle of the village. Even with the exotic name of Plaza de Fortuna, no men nor women of high status mingled in that courtyard. The adolescent knew it was against the lessons his mama had told him, but he was just so hungry. It took him three days to decide to take an apple from an old man who only had a few coins in his jar. The juice of the apple burst in his mouth, the sweetness pouring and flooding over his taste buds. He moaned at the beauty of the savory taste. The skin of the apple melted in his mouth, until the second bite. The second bite tasted of corpses, rotten, spoiled. The apple, so beautiful in its shining redness, was now thrown on the ground, the smack of his mother’s backhand imprinted on his cheek. But now, even his mother was not there to discipline him.

A homeless man stood at a corner of a collapsed church, a gold cross hanging on his neck, a single shoe on his right foot, and a beard that stretched to the base of his neck. Though the man had the eyes of a youthful being, his wrinkles made him look old and worn. He was playing a melodic tune with his embarrassingly scratched guitar, and tapping his shoe with the rhythm. Like the merchant, nothing but a few coins in a jar. The boy, without even greeting the beggar, approached the old man, placed the apple next to the jar, and decided to simply sing at the melody. It was not for a moment of glorious spectacle, nor was it for an income. It just seemed comforting to have some music with an accompaniment of vocals. The man did not protest, and so the strings of the guitar danced with the pitches of the boy’s singing. It lasted from the morning all the way to midnight, with no meal in between. The jar had filled up to a decent value of a loaf of bread to split between the two. What was thought as a one-time occurrence, became a daily occupation, and everyday the two would split a loaf of bread and even add some jam, without even a conversation spoken. The only language they needed was that of their music. There was one day where the boy purposefully tripped on the sidewalk near their usual music spot. The scrape against the rocky pavement left a bright red bruise with a thick smudge of dirt mixing with his weary skin. The old man helped the boy up, tore a strip of his sleeve, and patched him up with that. The old man told the boy not to be so clumsy, but it ended in a brief gaze of bondage between the two. However, once again, few words were exchanged.

After several months of trudging, though rather enjoying the frustration, the old man bought a book with the title Blueberries for Sal printed with large font on the cover. The boy told the man he did not know how to read. The old man said that he would teach him, though he admitted he knew little as well. They worked during the day, and read during the night. The words, the sentences, the pictures, it all became an obsession to the boy. With permission from the old man, the boy bought more books. Each night became an infuriating passage of perseverance, understanding what each word meant, what the story wanted to say.

It led to one night where the boy finally spoke to the man under rags.

“Where are your parents?” said the young boy.

The old man did not look at the child. “Far and happy,” he said. “What about you? I assume you ran away. Why?”

The little boy sighed but did not shed a tear. “I would never run away. But I would say they’re far and happy.”

The old man regretted his question. His relation to the young boy still disoriented his manners towards him.

The boy knew the silence in between was for that very reason of mixed communication. He did not feel offended, for he was the one who commenced the conversation. “Do you have any kids?” asked the boy. His curiosity was greater than his proper manners.

The old man leaned on his elbow, believing he had not heard correctly. “What?”

“Do you have any children? Like the bears in Little Red Riding Hood. The bears have a smaller bear. He’s their child. Do you have a smaller version of you?”

The old man looked away and sighed. “Go back to sleep,” He felt his closure to the topic was rude on his part, and added, “Have a good night.”

“You too, papa.” The man did not hear the last word, but they both slept soundly that night.

The old man coughed horrendously and in colossal intervals. His strength was weakening, his motivation was deteriorating, his eyes were fading. The little boy knew what was happening to the old man, for he had seen it twice before, and it was about to be three times too many. The old man passed away within the spectrum of a few days. No proper funeral, no relatives, just the little boy. He decided to cry only after the man’s death, because for a man so dear, the moment belonged solely to him. The boy trudged through the sadness and thanked the heavens that he had the opportunity of having two great fathers. The old man was buried in a rotten field, with an unpolished cross sticking from the ground. It read in carved letters, To the Father Who Was Kind Enough to Give Me Blueberries.

———————————————————————————————————————

With the noble man’s memories slipping away, he decided it too painful to keep looking there, and instead focus on the people that stood near his bed. He hated the house for all its malice, but the people that were in it–each had a light inside of them that gazed into the noble man’s heart, and built a connection. All that was needed to say farewell was received, but not spoken. The relatives that stepped outside resumed their positions in the room, standing tall as if to prove that the next generations of the family would be in good hands.

The noble man’s eyes scanned the room, his neck creaking, his bones snapping, his muscles tingling. He met the eyes of his daughter, a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and a stance that shouted promise. Her two children, teenage twins with blue eyes and bright hair also had the same stance, though their eyes were watery and red. The noble man found his son, a man with the eyes and mouth of his mother and the distinguishable nose of his father. It reminded the noble man of his own parents, a lovely pair they were, and lovely he indeed saw in the room. The noble man’s grandchildren, Sophia, Maria, Thomas, Daniel, Fernando, and the littlest one, Paula, all sat at the edge of the creaky bed. The noble man smiled at them, and he saw a little glow behind their soaked cheeks. Cousins, nephews, nieces, friends, neighbors, they all came with pretty faces and ugly expressions. The thought saddened the dying man, but he soon grinned as much as he could, because it was the first time in a long time that all these faces were in one room.

The male nurse nodded his head to the noble man’s children. The dying man closed his eyes slowly, he tilted his head back and listened to the sound of paper unfolding and the sweet voice of his daughter break the silence–the words spoken, the same words he had said to his own parents and the old guitarist: “I thank you, not just for being a figure for the family, but for being the person that everyone needs. It is tragic that you are passing, but be assured that your legacy of goodness will not end here. All is good, because now, we will always be together, in life, in death, and beyond.”

The Fight for Life and School

My mother’s dying and it feels as if I’m going with her. I remember the night she came home with tears in her eyes. She sat all of us down and broke the news to us. She had cancer. My father stared at her with tears and my sister walked away. I stayed there for my mother’s sake. Her seeing Rosie walk away hurt her more than the cancer ever would. The next day we took her to the hospital–all of us but Rosie who refused to look at Mom, let alone be in the same room as her. Ever since then, mom has been in and out of the hospital.

My pen’s ink is just starting to disappear. I shake my pen once more, hoping that it will bear with me and work a little while longer. As soon as I begin the next sentence, the pen gives up. Frustrated and angry, I throw the pen across the room.

The front door opens. I look over and see dad all wet in a tan trench coat. He sets down his black worn out briefcase by the door and leaves his keys on the small table next to the door. He walks through the hallway. As soon as he enters the kitchen, I know he’s had a bad day. I keep to myself and go to pick up my old pen and to get a new one. I sit back down and slouch over my work.

Dad sighs and grips the counter’s edge. He stays there for a moment before turning and walking to the sink. The water gushes and cascades down his hands. He turns off the water and quickly dries his hands on the towel that rests on the oven handle. He returns to his old position at the counter.

“Have you and Rosie eaten yet?” He asks quietly. I look up for a moment from my work. Dad’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the couch that still has mom’s old blanket on it from yesterday. I look back down and don’t say a word.

“All right then. I’m going to go to bed. If you want to visit your mother in the morning, be up by 6:45,” he says before stalking away. Rosie appears from the stairs and slides past dad as he doesn’t move.

“Sure, let’s not talk about the giant elephant in the house,” she says, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. I ignore her and continue to work. She takes a sip and stares at me through all that black makeup.

“You haven’t said anything all day. What’s up?” She asks, sitting down on a stool next to me. Her makeup is sloppily done but I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. I continue to concentrate. She taps her fingers against the marble. Her silver bracelets clatter with every move she makes. She stares down at her orange juice as if it’s sour.

“I haven’t talked to mom in a year. Dad doesn’t even like to acknowledge that I’m here. I can’t lose you too, Man,” she says. She touches my shoulder delicately like I would break if she put all her weight on me. I take a breath and look at her. She has a tear running down her cheek, making some of her makeup go with it.

“You’re ruining your makeup,” I say. She wipes her tear away and sniffles.

“Screw my makeup. Manon, you can’t disappear. Not now. Okay?” She says. I nod and fiddle around with my pen. Rosie returns to her look of disgust.

“Cool. I’ll see you later,” She says, grabbing her cup and walking away, mumbling something about sensitivity. I turn around on my stool and stare at the living room couch. Just yesterday mom was sitting there, laughing at something on the TV. Today she’s back in the hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I’m up at 6:00 and in the shower by 6:15. I race down the stairs and walk into the kitchen where my laptop and phone sit. I shove them into my bag and grab a banana from the bowl in the middle of the island. I sit down and grab a piece of yellow paper and a pen.

Dad and I have gone to see Mom. We will be back later. Don’t do anything dumb. -Manon

I slide the paper into the middle of the island. Dad walks down the hallway, towards the kitchen. His hair glistens with water. He opens the cabinet and pulls out a mug. He begins to make some coffee.

I look away from him and busy myself with getting everything that I need for today. Today is a big day for mom and me. She has her first day at her new support group and I have to send in my applications for college.

I need to get out of this house. There’s nothing here for me anymore.

Dad takes his mug that has steam coming out and walks towards the front door. He grabs his keys and his briefcase before opening the door. He turns to wait for me.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and walk towards the door. I duck under dad’s arm and he shuts the door behind him. He and I get in the car. The engine turns over and we slowly drive away from the house.

I hold onto Mom’s arm and she holds onto mine. We slowly walk down the halls of the hospital. She’s talking to me about all the nurses and their kids. She gets all the hospital drama gossip. We pass an old man in a wheelchair who waves with a smile at Mom.

“Hi Hank. I’ll see you later for some black jack,” she says. I look at her with a smile.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to gamble here,” I say. Mom turns back her attention to me, rather than where she steps.

“Oh, we’re not. Hank and I love to play so we do,” she says. I laugh and lead her to a door that reads Meeting Center. I slowly put my hand on the door’s handle.

“You ready?” I ask. Mom nods and puts her hand on mine.

“Let’s do this,” she says. I push open the door and hold it for her. She wobbles a little but gets the feeling of walking on her own and makes it to a seat. Everyone looks at her as she sits down. Some of the women here have scarves on their heads, while others have a little bit of fuzzy gray hair, and others have a full head of hair. I look over to Mom’s fuzzy head and compare it to the others.

“Welcome!” A perky woman, with a buzzed haircut says. Mom smiles and looks up. She’s still trying to catch her breath.

“Hello,” Mom breathes. I close the door and walk to the corner where a small chair is.

“Is that your daughter?” The perky woman asks. The woman points to me with a big smile. Mom looks at me and nods.

“Yes. I hope it’s alright that she’s here,” mom says. I can tell she doesn’t like the perky woman. The woman nods and stands up. She walks over to mom and stretches out her hand.

“Monica,” she says. Mom grabs her hand and gently shakes it.

“Lori,” mom says. Monica walks over to me. I quickly put my laptop away and stand up. I grab her hand and firmly shake it.

“Manon,” I say. Monica smiles. She walks back to her seat and sits down. As the minutes pass, a few more people walk in. It seems as if they all are admitted to the hospital. Monica pulls out a clipboard with lined paper. She grabs a pink pen with a cancer sign on it. I pull my laptop back out and begin to work. I only begin to listen to what’s going on around me when Mom starts to speak.

“Hi, my name is Lori and I have breast cancer. I’m not concerned about what is happening to me. Okay, maybe I am a little worried, but I’m more worried about my kids. When I first broke the news to them, which must have been the hardest thing ever, my youngest kid, Rosie, walked away and hasn’t spoken to me since. She won’t even be in the same room as me. I’m more scared about losing my kids than losing my life,” She says. Monica nods and sends me a look. I close my laptop and give mom all her attention. A woman with a scarf around her head speaks up.

“Lori, I understand that your children mean the world to you, but there will be no world for them if you don’t try to get through this. If Rosie–Rosie, correct?” The woman asks. Mom nods and crosses her legs. The woman continues, “If Rosie hasn’t talked to you since then, let her come to you. I’m sure she’s scared and confused. Cancer is something that doesn’t just hurt the person it’s in. It also hurts the people around them. Give her time.” The woman finishes with a nod. A few people nod, agreeing with her. My heart begins to thumpity thump thump and my face feels warm.

“I understand that cancer is a terrible thing, but losing my girls is worse. They are my world so with them, there is nothing more important,” She says.

“I’m Cynthia, by the way. Lori, forget about your kids for one second and think about yourself. This is your time. Use it wisely.” I stand abruptly. The chair screeches back and people look at me. I set my laptop in my bag and grab it.

“Excuse me.” I say and walk out. I slam the door shut behind me and angrily sling my bag over my shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

My head rests in my hand while my other hand is busy, clicking the mouse. My eyes sting and my head hurts from staring at the computer screen for too long. I stand up and rub my eyes while walking to the kitchen.

I shuffle past a smiling Rosie who is contently staring at her phone. I open the fridge in search for something to fill my grumbling belly. I shut the fridge when Rosie’s shrill, unattractive laugh bursts the silence. I walk back over and stand at her side. I glance at her phone screen and see the name Dylan.

“Who’s Dylan?” I ask. Rosie looks up at me, her smile completely gone now.

“I dont know, who?” She asks with the tiniest hint of a smile. I look at her with an ‘Oh really?’ look.

“The person you’re texting.” I say, pointing to her phone.

“Look Man, I don’t have any time for your dumb games. I am busy writing a school essay.” She says, pointing to her phone. I glance down and see that she has a writing file.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I say. She nods and returns her attention to her phone. I sigh and walk back over to the fridge.

“Did you eat?” I ask, moving things aside to see what there is to eat.

“I thought we had finished our conversation. No. I haven’t,” She says. My chest tightens at her attitude. I pull out the last of the cold slices of pizza. I put a piece in the microwave and wait for the beeps, signaling that it’s done. When the microwave goes off Rosie looks up.

“Did you make me some?” She asks. I pull out my pizza and put it on the counter.

“No Rosie. It’s not my job to babysit you. You want people to make you dinner, you complain to mom,” I say. She looks taken back. I sigh and put my head down. I put a hand to my forehead while the other rests on my hip.

“I didn’t know that was what you thought.” She says. By now her school work is just a memory.

“I don’t. It just came out. I’m really pressured with finding schools and stuff. Plus Mom’s support group didn’t really appeal to me,” I say. Rosie nods. She hops down off the stool and walks over to the fridge. She pulls out the whole pizza box and throws it down next to my small slice. She shoves me to the side and opens the box.

I grab my plate with my food and walk to the kitchen table. I slide into the booth and have my back to the window. It’s now dark out. After a few minutes Rosie joins me. We quietly eat, not talking or looking at each other.

This house is empty with nothing left but a broken family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair, facing Mom’s hospital bed. She’s smiling at the TV. I gaze out the window and see my high school just across the street. I sigh and focus on my application for college.

“Is my helping with that holiday thing at the elementary important?” I ask. Mom looks up with a cute little smile.

“Huh?” She asks holding back a little laugh. She took some medicine a while ago. It’s now kind of kicking in.

“Never mind,” I say, writing it down.

“I’m on pills,” she says before returning her attention to the screen.

“I know, mom.” I say. I crack my knuckles and decide to take a walk. I tell mom I’ll be back and if she needs anything press the yellow button next to her bed. She’s half listening, half in her wonder world. I close her door, making sure it doesn’t make any noise as Bert, her grumpy, sleepy, next door neighbor constantly yells at me for “Closing the door too loud.”

I wander down the halls glancing at the different patients. Two kids in wheelchairs zoom down the hall laughing. I smile and watch them turn the corner. Two male nurses and one female nurse runs after them. A big rack of blood flashes by me. I wander down a few more halls until I find myself in front of the doors to the lobby. I push one open just as soon as someone else does. We bump into each other and my chest and stomach and neck begin to burn. The smell of freshly brewed coffee climbs up my nose.

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” I say. I look up to see a boy with disheveled hair and a shocked look on his gorgeous face. He has emerald green eyes with a tiny dash of brown in the middle. He has a spare bottom lip and some stubble climbing on his face.

“No, no, no. I’m so sorry. Oh. Uh…here let me help you,” he says, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the side of the hall. He takes the few napkins he had in his hand and begins to rub my shirt. Bold.

“It’s okay,” he looks up at me for a second before returning to his work. I grab his hand when he begins to rub harder.

“Stop. It’s fine. I’ll get it. I think you’re just making it worse anyways,” I say. He has a horrified look on his face.

“I am so sorry. I already said that,” I think that last part was more for him than me. I stick out my hand.

“Manon,” I say. He hesitantly takes it, shocked at my ‘peace offering.’

“I’m Callum. Nice to meet you, Manon,” he shakes my hand firmly. I don’t judge people on their looks, or their attitude, but more on their handshake. If it’s firm they have a personality and can stand up for themselves and don’t need me or anyone else to do it. If they have a weak handshake they have no backbone, no personality, and I instantly shut down on them. But luckily his handshake was firm.

Just what I need. A little firmness and backbone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m leading Mom back through the hallways. Tomorrow I won’t be able to because I have to go back to school.

“Second day of your support group,” I say with no emotion. Mom looks at me and stops walking. She pulls at my arm and asks me to take her to the side of the hallway.

“You don’t have to come because I remember the last time wasn’t your favorite,” she says looking me in the eyes.

“It’s just an opinion that people agreed with, Mom. It’s not like it’s true. Right?” I ask. She quickly looks down, but returns her gaze to me.

“Right,” she squeaks. She begins to walk on her own in her pink bunny slippers. I walk to catch up with her and lead her to the room. She sits down in the chair she was in the last time. I stand at the door and watch her sit down to make sure she’s okay. Someone bumps my shoulder with theirs. I turn to my right to see Callum looking back at me.

“Hello,” he says, looking straight ahead with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” I whisper back. He looks at me through the corner of his eyes.

“So this is why you’re here,” he says quietly, “Because you’re sick.” He finishes after pausing. I look at him, startled. I grab his shoulder and turn him towards me.

“No. I’m–I’m not. My mom is,” I say, pointing to her. He looks at me with concern, but also a look of relief.

“I’m glad you’re okay and I’m sorry about your mom’s health. My mom’s sick, too,” he says, pointing towards Monica. I look over in the direction he’s pointing to and see her standing talking with a big smile on her face. Callum puts his hand back in his pocket. Monica looks our way with a big smile that only gets bigger when she sees Callum. But when she sees me her smile lessens. I look away and nod my head. I decide to change the subject.

“How was your coffee?” I jokingly say. He smiles.

“It probably tastes a lot better on you.” He says. His eyes fill with fear. I laugh.

“Not like that it’s just the coffee here is already so bad that spilling it on clothing probably made it better,” He says quickly.

“Hey. I like the coffee here!” I say.

“Then Starbucks must be a jackpot.” He says back with an adorable smile. I scoff and smile back. We lock eyes for a moment until Monica tells everyone to sit down. I now just look around and see that a lot of kids and teenagers are here as well. Are they all sick? They all look healthy. Monica claps her hands together.

“Hello everybody. Today we have brought in your children to see how they feel with all of this, and a way for you all to try and work out any tension. Please take a seat next to your parents.” She says, unclasping her hands and motioning for all of us to do as she said, and sit. I give a tight smile to Callum and go sit next to my mom. She grabs my hand, not looking at me. She’s nervous.

Each parent and kid go around and talk, occasionally crying, occasionally laughing, or occasionally not acknowledging each other at all. My mom begins to speak, but I barely listen because I’m thinking about school and homework, and how I’m going to have to make Dad and Rosie dinner, and how I’m going to have to force Rosie to even get near her backpack.

“And how are you during all of this, Manon?” I look up and tuck away my bitten nails.

“Besides the fact that my mom is dying, and my sister won’t talk to her–let alone be in the same room as my mom, and my dad shutting everything out. Feeling, me, Rosie, Mom and her cancer? I’m fine,” I say with a little too much force. Mom looks at me with tears.

“You feel this way?” She asks. I look at her.

“Mom, you’re gone! I’m making dinner, making Rosie do her homework, and making sure Dad doesn’t do anything…to hurt himself and the…and the family.” I barely get the last part out.

“I am not gone! I never will be! You need to talk to me about this!” She yells. She begins to cough. I go to rub her back but she swats my hand away.

“I’m not gone. I can stop coughing myself,” she hisses.

“Then why does it feel like you are gone?” I squeak. My eyes burn and my throat tightens. A lump forms in my throat and I have to try and clear my throat. If I say one word I know I’ll break down into tears. Monica speaks up.

“That’s all our time,” She whispers. I stand up, along with everyone else. Callum stops me before I leave.

“You okay?” He asks. I nod and make awkward hand gestures.

“Yeah,” I squeak, “I have to go.” I rush out the last part before leading mom back to her room in an awkward silence.

 

The Death of the Party

The party ended long ago

Yet why I’m still here I don’t know

The music of the broken chair

A symphony that spreads, threadbare

 

The red balloons float near the wall

Their strings drift slowly toward the hall

Beneath my thoughts, a wistful broom

The dust around it sweeps the room

 

A candle molds on windowsill

It holds a light that sits too still

Whose slice of cake lies on the floor

Within the shadow of the door

 

I don’t remember who was here

To celebrate throughout the years

I want to stay, although I know

My party ended long ago

Teddy Bear

 

1)

Remember your teddy bear?

The one that was worn around the edges?

You took it everywhere with you

But your arms were too short to hold it off the ground

So its left foot

Dragged on the pavement

 

Remember the tea parties

You used to have with it?

You’d call it Miss Franchez

Or Fran for short

You would sleep with it

Because it fought the monsters

So they wouldn’t hurt you

But maybe the monsters were too big

 

I remember when you went outside to play

It was raining,

But you refused to leave her inside

And when I found her on the

Edge of the highway

 

Her frail body soaked through with water

And one perfect rain drop under

Her button eye your perfect little shoe was

Laying next to

 

I carry her in my purse

So that I remember you

Her one remaining eye is falling out,

And the wool in left leg

Is almost gone

But I keep her anyway

You wouldn’t have thrown

Her out

 

They still haven’t found you

And most people have forgotten

But I still go to the highway

Every night with Fran

And we wait for you to come back

You will come back, right?

 

2)

You used to carry me everywhere

And tell me stories about candy trees

And the dragon at the end of the street

We used to have tea parties

And adventures to the moon

I fought the purple monster under

Your bed

So it couldn’t take your dolly

Remember that?

 

I remember when we went out to play

And the big woman told

You not to bring me because

Because it was raining too hard

But you never left me

You promised you wouldn’t

 

But when the big man grabbed you,

You dropped me on me ground

It was cold there

Why’d you drop me?

You said it was just going to be another adventure

So why’d you leave?

 

But now the the big woman

Carries me around

And I see your face smiling at me

I call out to you

But you never answer

 

She takes me to the highway

Every day

And we wait for you to come back

You will come back, right?

 

3)

I remember all the adventures we had

And your soft wool

Hugging me at night

I remember the tea

You used to help me make

It was orange juice but i always

Told you it was tea

 

Remember the exciting stories

You would tell

About the purple monster under

My bed

But I was never really afraid.

My memories are worn around

The edges

And your button eyes

Stopped looking real

But I still wait

 

Because I know one day

You will find me

Successful Failure

The French restaurant was a perfectly square building, with chipping pink paint and ivy crawling down the side of. It had black wire chairs and tables in the front. Inside the restaurant there were creamy white drapes over the windows and small flickering candles on each of the square tables. Littering the walls were black and white photos of the Eiffel Tower, Louvre Museum, Palace of Versailles, and many other significant places in France,  along with pictures of the owner’s smiling family.  The aroma out of the kitchen was delicious and you could practically taste the Bisque, Terrine, or Croque Monsieur being cooked up in the kitchen.

Jason Mallory’s best friend told him he had found the perfect girl for him; Jason was ecstatic. Jason as being 28 was obsessed with finding a wife. He would date anyone who was breathing and was determined to be married before the age of 30.  He was laid back and lived in a small apartment, which he shared with six other guys to pay the rent. He was working as a barista at a small coffee shop on the outskirts of New York City. He wanted to make it big in the world of theater acting but so far was unsuccessful. He would go to three auditions per month, only to get rejected a few weeks later. On Friday nights, he would stay out late at bars watching football games. In fact he would do that any day of the week. The future to him was not anything but what he would do in a few hours, nothing more and nothing less.

Avery Kinsey was a powerhouse, despite what she might look. Petite at 4 ‘11 and icicle thin, Avery had started her own real estate company by the age of 25,  which was nearing one of the most popular real estate companies in New York City. Avery had no time for nonsense. She had things to do and places to be. She would much rather stay single her whole life. If she had too many people in her life, she would have less time to focus on her pride and joy, her real estate company. Despite her opinion, Avery’s only friend , Karen, had set her up on blind date. Karen’s boyfriend’s best friend  was supposedly the man for her. Avery was displeased; she hated when people chose what her next move would be like, but next week Avery had a huge deal and needed a lot of concentration, and Karen would be bothering her all of next week if she did not go on this date tonight.

When Jason arrived at the French restaurant he saw a small woman sitting at a table all by herself. She was wearing lemon-yellow blazer and skirt, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a high bun. Her shoes were pointed at the tips and were fire truck red, which matched her square glasses.

“Avery?” he asked the woman cautiously.

“Yes?” she said impatiently.

“Hello, I’m Jason,” he said, sticking out his hand for her to shake.

Avery shook his hand and then pulled out a small bottle of Purell from her lemon-yellow handbag.  

Offended, Jason sat down across from her.  “Do you think I’m that dirty?” he asked accusingly.

She ignored him. “You’re late.”

“What? So I was five minutes late, what’s the big deal?” Jason spluttered.

“It was unprofessional,” Avery answered, her words clipped.

Jason could feel anger rising up in his chest. “You know what? Let’s start over, pretend nothing happened, and just order.”

“If you say so,” said Avery, she picked up her black leather menu, which was so big it covered her whole entire face until Jason could not see her anymore.

“Hello,” said a waiter, who had come over to the table, “may I interest you in any drinks this evening?”

“Would you like a drink, Avery?” Jason asked her.

“I don’t drink,” she said from behind her menu.

Jason ordered his drink and the waiter came back two minutes later with a water for Avery and Jason’s drink.   

“Are we ready to order?” the waiter asked

“Yup,” Jason replied

“Yup is not proper English,” Avery said from behind her menu.

Ignoring her, Jason ordered foie gras and Avery ordered a French onion soup. The waiter took away their menus, revealing Avery’s face again.

“So what do you like to do?” Avery asked him.

Momentarily stunned that Avery was saying something not critical of him, Jason replied, “I like to play basketball, I work at a coffee shop, and I want to be a theater actor.”

“That’s nice,” Avery said politely.

“What about you?” Jason asked her

“Well, I don’t have much free time, since I’ve started my company, but if I do, I like to run and cook,” she said back. 

“So what do have to do with this big company of yours?” Jason asked her.

“I have to finalize bills, keep everyone in line, all final sales go back to me, I have to employ people, officially sign all of the verification bills when we sell a house, if too many things go wrong with house inspections, I have to fix them, and I have to manage all the income the company gets. I have help, of course, but it’s still a lot.”

“Wow, that is a lot.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Here is some bread as a appetizer,” said the waiter carrying bread basket.

Avery and Jason fell back into silence once again.    

Halfway through their eating, Jason asked, “So, how’d you start a company when you’re so young?”

Avery swallowed. “Well, you have to be clever and quick on your feet. You have to know what you’re talking about. You have to be confident and determined and not let anyone tell you not to do what you think is right.”

Jason nodded. “Okay.”

“Hello, here we have the French onion soup and foie gras,” said the waiter setting down the plates in front of their respective person, “can I get anything else for you today?”

“No, I think we’re okay,” Jason said, “right, Avery?”

Avery nodded her head. “Thank you very much, sir.”

Once the waiter left, Avery took out her Purell bottle again and sanitized her hands, once again.

“Would you like some?” Avery asked Jason.

“Sure,” he responded, noticing the excessive amount of purell that was now on his hands. “So are you kinda a germ-a-phobe?”

“Kinda is not a real word, and the real fear is called mysophobia, and yes,” Avery responded, matter of factly.

“Oh, can’t you relax a little bit? Not be so uptight?” Jason said

“No I can’t. If everything’s not perfect, then a whole list of uncharted outcomes will happen and that can not happen, ever,” Avery said, her voice rising.

“Okay, calm down. Sorry I suggested it,” Jason said, putting his hand up in surrender.

Avery just ate her soup.

“So do you have any siblings?” Jason asked her.

“I’m an only child. You?” she asked.

“I have two older brothers,” he responded.

“Are you close to them?”

“Well, we were really close when we were younger, but one lives in Brazil studying exotic plants, and the other one plays pro hockey, so it’s hard to coordinate time to talk to one another on the phone or go to visit. The only time we’re all together is when we go to the beach with my parents for a week in the summer, but for the last five years, one of us has not been able to make it.”

Avery nodded her head. “What do your parents do?”

“My dad’s a college professor, and my mom is a psychologist. How about you?”

“My parents divorced when I was nine, but they’re both in the real estate business. It runs in the family.”

“So what’s your favorite movie?” Jason asked her, hoping to start some conversation.

“Well, I haven’t really watched many movies since I was 16, but then I really liked action films then,” Avery said

“Action movies?! Wow, I would not consider you to be an action movie type of person!” Jason said, beside himself with disbelief.

“Now, now, that was then, now is the present, and now I hate action movies, but remember you should never judge someone by their first impression,” Avery said lightly.  

“Oh, well, I like action movies and comedies, but adventure is cool, too. I like dramas in plays but not movies, romances are boring, horror is awesome, especially that new movie that came out-” Jason started to ramble

“I can tell you very passionate about films in general,” Avery said, politely interrupting him.

“Yup!” Jason said happily.

“How many times do I have to remind you that yup is not a real word, please stop saying it!” Avery groaned, placing her head in her hands.

“Sorry,” Jason said happily, not sorry at all.

The waiter came back to clear their plates. “Can I interest you folks on a dessert this evening?”

“Would you like to split this tarte tatin, with me, Aves? It looks like an apple tart,” Jason asked her.

“I don’t eat added sugar,” Avery said, her voice flat.

“Oh, course you don’t…could you do a slice of the tarte tatin?” Jason asked the waiter

“Of course, sir,” the waiter said and left.

“Never call me that again,” Avery said, her blue eyes dead serious.

“Call you what?” Jason asked, confused.

“Aves.”

“Okay, sorry, it just kind of slipped out,” Jason responded,

“Promise.”

“Promise what?”

“To never ever as long as you live to call me Aves.”

“I promise to never call you Aves again,” Jason said. “Why can’t I call you that?”

“Because one, it’s unprofessional, Aves sounds like a name for a little girl, not a woman. Two, the name on my birth certificate is Avery, so thats my name and no other name. Three, I hate nicknames with every bone in my body.”

“Oh, okay, good reasons,” Jason said.

The tarte tatin arrived, and Jason ate it while Avery was staring at him, arms crossed.

Once Jason was done, he signaled for the check. Once the waiter brought it over, he proceeded to fill it out.

“No, Jason, here is $12 for my soup,” Avery said

“Okay. Thank you,” Jason responded

Avery did not offer up more money, which Jason thought was fair because she did not order anything other than the soup.

After the check was paid, Jason said to her, “I had a great time with you tonight, Avery.”

“Yes, me too,” Avery responded

Both just wanted to be polite.

In many ways, Jason though that this date was a failure, most of the conversation was forced, Avery and him had nothing in common, and most of Jason’s natural instincts–like saying “yup” and nicknaming people–seemed to annoy Avery. In some ways, though, it was a success. They both got see different people with very different life goals and standing in life currently, and it was sort-of fun for both of them.

As they walked out of the French restaurant, Jason held open the door for her.

“Bye, Avery,” Jason said, “maybe some other time.”

“Yes, maybe,” said Avery, although she highly doubted it.

Jason turned and headed west, and Avery turned and headed east. Neither of them looked back.

Sleepless

Chapter 1

 

The pavement has a few cracks in it that form a face. A type of face that I should be scared of, but I wasn’t. I think it’s a nightmare, which it is. I awoke with the snap of my fingers. I lie boiled in my own sweat. Nightmares don’t give me the best night, but I do have a lot of them. I’m not scared of nightmares. I learned to Lucid, so they just disappear when I think about it.

My friends call me Lucid. It’s a state, that allows me to make my own decisions in the dream state. I trained myself since I have many nightmares. The time was 4:34. I awoke next to Mrs. Penelope and my other dolls. She was my favorite doll! Her thick blonde hair streamed down her body into her pink dress. I hit my head on the soft pillow and went back to sleep. I was in a dream, I was being chased by a dragon breathing his fiery breath.

“I want a flying carpet and the mightiest sword in the dream world!” I ordered.

Now I was on a flying carpet holding a mighty golden sword. I slayed the dra- BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock going off for school. After I got ready for school, I walked down the hardwood floors to the kitchen to eat my morning breakfast. My mother, who had no expression on her face, was getting my daily cereal ready.

“Hel-lo, sweet-ie,” she said in her staticy voice. She knows I love that voice, so her and father always did the robot-like-voice. I sat down at the marble counter and poured milk into the bowl. A little milk spilled, my mother cleaned it up in an instant.

“Woah. That was quick,” I said while combing my long hair.

“You know I like my house nice and clean,” Mother claimed.

My father came into the kitchen wearing his suit, he was holding a briefcase and looked at his watch. He did his static voice:

“I’ll be late for work, bye sweetie, have a good day!” Kissing me on the cheek. I swatted at him to go away as I stuffed the crunchy cereal into my face. I chewed and swallowed. I heard the bus pulled up to my driveway.

“Duty calls! Bye, love you all!” I said jumping out of the chair and grabbing my pink bag.

“Good-bye sweet-ie. Have a nice da-ay.”
I laughed and ran out the front door

“Hey!” my friend Isabelle called. “Hurry up!”

I hopped on the bus and together we sat in the back row. “So I was thinking,” Isabelle said and she went on and on and on. ‘Hooooonk hooooonk.’

“Hey!” Isabelle snapped her fingers in my face. “Lucid dream again? You have to stop doing that. Anyway, let’s ditch school. We have A’s, so can we miss one day? Starbucks day?”

I peeked open one eye. “You mean I have A’s, and you have C’,” I retorted.

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Are we going to Starbucks?”

I shrugged, still half in my lucid dream still have out. “I mean,” hoooonk hooooonk, “sure. Starbucks is,”‘hoooooonk, “cool”

Isabelle started giggling “You’re still in you lucid dream. But whatever.”

When I got to school, Isabelle and I walked into the building.

“So when are we ditching?” I asked.

Isabelle looked through her backpack. “I was thinking on…on…before third period.”

I stopped walking. “But today is the history exam!” I continued to walk.

“I know, that’s why I chose third period,” Isabelle said. She looked up from her backpack with a shocked look. “Shoot, I forgot my math homework. Do you think I could do 7th grade calculus before second period?”

“No. Iz. Sounds impossible. You know…because you aren’t me.”

“Oh, ha-ha-ha,” she laughed sarcastically. The bell rang.

“Come on Iz. Before we’re late.”

I turned around to see Robbie Toby. My crush! I have had the biggest crush on him since the third grade! We lived right next each other. His chest was puffed out, wearing his blue tight shirt apped his six-pack. He was captain of the varsity basketball team!

I stuttered. “He-Hey…Ro-b-b-ie.”

He chewed and bit on his lower lip, which drove me absolutely mad.

“Hey girls,” Robbie said. He hurried down the hall, following the other kids to their classes.

“He’s so cute,” I muttered

“Maaaaybe, if you learned to talk to him, it would go somewhere,” Iz said sarcastically.

“Well it’s not my fault! You’re the most confident person I know!” I admitted.

“Don’t worry, Lucie. You’ll work it out.”

Isabelle started to walk forward to first period.

“No I won’t. I’m an idiot. He’d never go out with me.”

“Says the straight A student.”

“I’m book smart. Not street smart.”

We walked to French. We walked along the wall and go to the room: D6.

Robbie sat at the same table as me. Isabelle sat with the weirdest boy in school, Daniel Braxton. The teacher walked in. He was wearing a blue sweater and had a bald spot at the top of his head. He came in holding a briefcase.

“Bonjour!” the teacher said.

“Good morning, Mr. Adrien,” the class repeated.

“False,” Mr. Adrien responded.

Bonjour, Monsieur Adrien,” the class said.

It was French for: Good morning, Mr. Adrien.

I looked over at Isabelle who was copying Daniel’s calculus homework onto her sheet of paper. On the other hand, Daniel was sticking pencils up his nose, his big freckled nose. He was a red-head, and he had tons and tons and tons of freckles!

The time third period arrived, Isabelle’s and my seats were empty, I was in Starbucks with my best friend! Do I feel guilty…yes. I have never ditched a day of school before. One time I had a 101 degrees fever, and I had a huge test! So I stuck my thermometer into icy cold water. But I got in trouble because I got three people sick that day.

“Ma’am, that would be six dollars,” the Starbucks woman said.

I went through my purse and pulled out four dollars. I walked over to Isabelle. “Hey. Can I have two dollars?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She looked into her purse and pulled out two dollars, and gave it to me. I walked over to the Starbucks women and gave her the two dollars.

“Who should I make out the cup too?” she asked.

I thought for a while, who should I make it out to, my name? Or Lucid?

“Lucid. Lucid Dream,” I told the lady. “Whats your name?”

“Leona. Leona Tylers,” she told me.

“That’s such a lovely name!” I told her.

“Why thank you!”

I left the counter with Isabelle, we had our frappuccinos in both of our hands. We walked outside and as soon we took our first sip, mine fell to the ground and spilled everywhere! I screeched. There I saw on the side of a stop sign. I saw the flier that I never wanted to see again! The flier read: JOIN QUART AND HIS FUNKY CREW AT THE THREE-YEAR-ANNUAL-CIRCUS!

When I was eight years old, I came across that same flier. It was my birthday. I asked my daddy to get me tickets for my birthday. He nodded, and that night we went to the circus. They had everything! Tamers, elephants, acrobats, ropewalkers, and most of all…clowns. My dad then went up to Quart and told him that it was my birthday. Quart announced to the crowd that it was my birthday and told me to get up here. The spotlight then turned to me, shining in my face and having just a twinkle of an eye open. I sat up and then got onto my feet, shaking.

I started to walk down the stairs to the stage of the circus. I walked slowly dreading until I got to the stage.

“Now what would you like for your birthday?” Quart asked me.

I shook in fear. “I-I wou-ld lik-e a um,” I shuddered.

“Come on dear, there most be something!” his clown face scared me.

I ran off the stage and out of the circus, my father following me.

 

I lay in my bed trying to fall asleep. Looking at the top of my bunk bed. But why couldn’t I?

No matter how hard I tried I could not manage to fall asleep. My head on the soft pillow, the covers around me were warming my cold body. It was a cold windy night, the window was open to get a nice breeze inside the warm house.

My teddy bear was tucked in between my pale arms. His name was Mr. Eddy. He protected me during the night so I wouldn’t be scared, but tonight Mr. Eddy didn’t help.

But no matter how comfortable this beautiful room was, I found myself not being able to fall asleep. Why? Why could I not fall asleep? What was the fear swarming my every thought.?

“Think lovely thoughts!” I kept on telling myself. “Lovely thoughts help.” Like flowers blooming in the meadows, or waking up on Christmas morning to run downstairs and open presents!

Nothing would work, I was still scared, in this beautiful room filled with light and joy.

What was I scared of though? Nothing, right? But I just have that deep feeling as if something or someone was watching me.

Finally I gave up on trying to go to sleep and sat up straight on my bed. And I felt a cold wash over me, my eyesight became clear, and everything became spooky right before my eyes. [JUUU DU DU DOOON)

I heard noises coming from my headphones. I must’ve left on a youtube video. I went on my computer, which was on my nightstand. The laptop was slightly open. It was an apple laptop and the apple logo was still glowing. I opened the laptop and the big blue bright screen was shining in my face. I clicked through my files and saw no video playing. Whats going on? I then put on my headphones and I heard:

“I think she hears us,” a creaky voice said.

I took off the headphones and unplugged them. I threw them across the room and they broke.

I jumped out of bed and went to the door. The knob was gold. Not the silver I remembered it to be. When I turned the knob there was a CREEEAK. Then I realized, my door was a push not a turn and pull. [JUUU DU DU DOOOON] I walked over to the window next, and looked outside into the windy night. Street lamps were turned off for the night, the road had no cars, not even a motor was running. Then I realized, cars should have been parked there. My mother’s car. [JUUU DO DO DOOOOON]

Next I went to my bookcase, books always made me feel delightful. So I thought to myself; maybe if I read, I will fall asleep. I reached into the bookcase and looked for my favorite book and saw: No Exit. I found it and opened to the first page. I saw a picture I never noticed before, it was the picture of the clown I’ve seen in a circus before. Its name was Quart. I had nightmares of this clown, it always haunted my dreams until I was eight, I’m now twelve.

The picture started to move as if it was real! The clown did an evil laugh and honked his nose, the clown started to walk around the picture. The clown reached his hand outside of the picture, I was scared. Then it dawned on me: I hate clowns! I dropped the hardcover book on my big toe! I screeched with pain.

I woke up with a gasp and sweat dripping down my face. I looked around. I was in my basement. This….this….was normal. Before….It couldn’t have been. That had to be a dream. I saw on the wall: Isssaaaabellllllllle.

But I realized: That wasn’t my name!

GASPS!

I was now in my kitchen. And Mr. Eddy was there. Made sense. I took Mr. Eddy and Mrs. Penelope everywhere. But where was she? The pots and pans were moving, the kitchen knives spelling out: N-O-T H-E-R-E L-E-O-N-A

Leona wasn’t my name either!

GASPS!

I was back in my room, how did I get here? Its impossible! One thing I knew I was in the kitchen hearing noises and now I’m lying in my bed again. I then heard whispers coming from my top bunk which I was staring at. I removed the covers from my body and started to look for Mr. Eddy, I couldn’t find him. GULP! I then got out of bed and heard the whispers again. (OH DANG) It was the type of whispers you shouldn’t have heard.

I climbed up the ladder to the top bunk and Mr. Eddy was there! He was with my other dolls, Sally, Mrs. Penelope, Drake, and Gother. They were whispering. I then kicked the ladder by accident. All my doll’s necks turned all the way around and stared at me. It was like an owl just with dolls. I then ran to the door, fast! I tried to twist the knob open. It wouldn’t open!

I then awoke. It was in my living room, the TV was on. I must’ve left it by accident, It was on a program that wasn’t running, so that means it was staticy. I grabbed the remote and started to flick through the channels to see if there was anything else on. But it went to the same static channel every time. Channel: 666. [eeeeeeeeeeup]

I then turned off the TV, I turned around and started to walk back up to my room, but then the TV turned back on again. So, I walked back to the living room and tried to turn the TV back off. Blood started to ooze from the TV. How is this possible? I threw down the remote and ran to the staircase again. My dolls were there, they were at the top of the staircase, as if they were a King. They were singing creepy lullabies.

 

“Can’t even shout, can’t even cry. The gentlemen are coming by.

Looking in windows, knocking on doors.

They need to take seven and they might take yours.

Can’t call to mom, can’t say a word,

You’re gonna die screaming but you won’t be heard,” all the dolls sang.

 

I ran the other way to the front door and I tried to open the front door to my house. It wouldn’t open! The dolls started to walk down the stairs.

I awoke back in my sweaty covers. I dripped sweat and fear shook my whole body. I saw a glass of water, I couldn’t resist it. I was so thirsty. I grabbed the water and started chugging it down. When it hit my mouth, it turned into dark oil. I choked and gagged. The oil dripping down my mouth.

“Daaarliiing,” my mother called. “Come ooout.”

“Diiinneeer,” my father called.

Their voices sounded a bit like steam boats. But that didn’t bother me. They were just playing, like old times.

I swung the door open and ran out the hallway, looking for them. “MOM! DAD!”

“Dooownstaaairs,” my mother called. I jumped down the stairs, three at a time.

“Paaastaaa!” my father said.

When I entered the kitchen, I saw my parents. Cooking, no expressions on their faces. “Mom? Dad?”

My father turned around, his face blank, the pot of pasta in his hands. “Sit.”

“ I-I-I,” stuttered, “I’M ALLERGIC TO PASTA!”

“Nooo you aaaren’t,” my mother called.

I looked at the clock: 6:66 a.m.

I screamed and grabbed a pan. “THAT TIME DOESN’T EXIST!”

“Darling. Please eat. You’re so scrawny,” my mother pleaded.

I grabbed a pan. “GO AWAY!” I swung the pan at my father, his head bent at an odd angle. Not human at all. He started switching and sparks flew. “Eat. Eat. Eeeeeeat.” He fell down and never moved again.

My mother’s voice changed to static and so deep filled with pure anger. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE! THAT WAS MY HUSBAND!” Her voice was like metal rubbing against metal.

“Yo-ur’e- You- o-‘re- an-an AUTOMATONS!” I hollered. It all made sense, maybe this is why I don’t have a name [JUUU DUN DUN DUNNNNNN].

I ran back down the steps to the basement, I was so scared. I just cooled myself down saying that I’m in nightmare! I finished running downstairs and saw a rope. The rope was hanging, but something was pulling the weight down of the rope. I moved my eyes down along the strip of rope. Towards the end it had a deep red color of blood stained into the rope. I saw a head through the loop of the rope. I panicked. The girl had a name tag. The name tag read: Isabelle.

So thats what I heard earlier! I then noticed blood dripping. I looked up and saw blood dripping on me, it ran down my face. It was coming from the air vents. I got the stool that was behind the hanging girl. I grabbed the stool and climbed up to the air vent. I removed the air vent and I saw a girl’s head lodged into the air vent. It must have been Leona. Her head was separated from her body, she was stabbed six times. I fell off the stool and I landed on Mr. Eddy. He appeared out of nowhere. I was scared. I looked at the wall and I saw something strange. It was written in the blood of Leona. It had the words: You’re Next. I wasn’t scared because of the message, I was scared because I never owned a teddy bear, because I never bought Mr. Eddy.

 

Every 12-year-old experiences these events. And you’re very much awake.

Newly Independent

Oliver had been in the hospital for 15 days before his wife came to visit him. He had recently been struck by oncoming traffic and flew about 27 feet before he hit the ground and was instantly paralyzed from the waist down. She, his wife, had reason to be upset, but her straight face as she walked through ICU proved otherwise. She didn’t frown or make any gesture that would indicate unhappiness, her neutrality was in fact quite disconcerting. The pale walls, speckled by miniscule black dots surrounded her as she walked through the corridor toward Oliver. Meanwhile, he was sprawled out in bed, blinking once for yes and twice for no, watching television, with the hum of the fan overlapping the voices of all patients in the wing. The screaming, oh the screaming was horrific, and once or twice every four minutes a bleach white stretcher would pass by his room, being pushed with much haste towards emergency care. He would on look and ponder the idea of what had brought each person in, maybe that one was a burn victim in a house fire on the west side, maybe that one was struck by a car as well, possibly.

She reached the main desk of the intensive care wing and proclaimed she was visiting room 163, the attendant replied with a nod and had her sign in before saying, “Down the hall to the right.” He threw up small amounts of water and bile beside him and sighed in exhaustion. He tried again, but with a failure realized he still couldn’t move his legs. He prayed that at least one toe would wiggle as he tried with all his might, but it was a conclusive no. She reached the door of 163 and slowly placed her hand on the brass knob that would open up the rest of her life. This was it, married last month, and already restriction, whether it be this new disability she would have to live with, or her discomfort in understanding that she was not ready for this. She was not ready to live like this, with him, with anyone. She drew back and stood outside the door. He was not ready for this, he was not ready for stability, he in general, was unprepared for everything that was to come. The reason for uneasiness was just unidentifiable to him. He then threw up again, and laid back in his bed staring at the ceiling above and tracing the grids.

She walked in and immediately both pairs of eyes met each other and for a moment became stuck in that position. She walked towards his bed greeting him with a quiet, “Hello, Oliver.” He nodded back in recognition, for his speech was impaired. The doctors believed this was just temporary. She sat in the chair adjacent to the bed and spoke calmly with small breaks, knowing that he had been mentally impaired as well as physically.

“Oliver, I know you can at least partly understand me. Listen, I know how you must feel about my absence. I just couldn’t bare to see you like this, knowing who you were and what you did before the accident.” She paused.

Oliver focused on her face and tried to understand and tried to control his frustration and anger. He gripped the keyboard he had been using to communicate sentences. He didn’t use this regularly because it was still a very tedious task, that just frustrated him even more. She watched as he began typing, his bony fingers resembling ivory spider legs as they stretched and pressed each key. She anxiously waited for a response to her obvious displeasure in being there. He stopped and the atmosphere of the room grew cold and uninviting.

“I wish I had died,” read the small screen sitting across the room. She stared at him for a moment and he stared back. She grew pale with apprehensiveness, as he just stared at her. His eyes moved down to her fingers, no wedding band, he couldn’t remove his. She wanted this moment to be internalized within him, she wanted him to believe there was no life between them anymore. She stood up and walked out of the room and a silent understanding had been achieved. He laid back again grasping at aspirations in his mind that now seemed intangible and unachieveable. She closed the door to 163, and in an instant her life was committed to experience and selfishness. Everything was up in the air, she went back to her car in the garage of the hospital and sat for a moment with the engine on. Her temple pressed on the steering wheel, she bent forward and let the tears falling from her cheek hit her lap. She slowly laid back into the seat, and pictured what will be in the days to come, an empty house, dinners for one, the removal of all things Oliver. She had lived in the same place for what feels like an eternity, four years with Oliver in the same house, mixing CD’s and records, sharing plates and cups, compiling DVDs together. She wondered why Oliver had patronized her so before the accident. She dug her fingernail into the crevice between her thumb and fore finger, and the wound already there from this habit began to bleed. She glanced out of the window, the wedding band laid just a few feet from the car, she couldn’t stand having to endure that experience with it still on. She thought about the rise and settle of the sun, and how the world, although crashing around her, would still be in this constant cycle. She sat for a while and believed she would never move, but eventually she backed out and began to drive towards the exit of the garage. As she moved through this darkness, passing cars and descending towards the bottom level, she expelled all memory of Oliver. The slow passing of minutes as she descended and drove out of the garage became a slow passing of hours as she drove towards any and everything, and the atmosphere of the situation really began to hit. Night had proceeded to envelop the world, and she was now unsure of every decision she had ever made.

She settled for a singular bowl of soup that night, and fell asleep to the faint sound of emptiness, and she wondered whether it was emitting from the lack of people in the house, or the unsettling finalization of a life well wasted.

Minds of Empty – Chapter One

Entry 1) Flash Drive

 

An alarm went off at two. This could mean only one thing, someone was in the catacombs.  

Alex was stepping out of his room.

“How’s the guy lasted so long?” Alex asked.

“Different host each time. Whenever he gets shot, or he deems his body unfit, the demon just possess the unlucky person who picks up his flash drive. In other words, he’s still out there.”

“So the only way to kill him is to destroy the flash drive.”

“We aren’t sure if that’d work. He may have copies.”

“So no matter how many times we exorcise him, he’ll crawl right back from Hell.”

Cape Town’s criminals had adapted their drug industry to include cleaners, so much so that Cape Town had become one of the largest cities for what they sold… and these gangs were dangerous. Their leaders knew seemingly everything crime-related. Their underlings swore a pledge giving complete memory control. Slaves were also kidnapped and given fake testimonies. If they ever found out who they were, their memories were erased. The memories were given to their leaders, giving them the knowledge of entire gangs. The police used memory implants as a new technology. In Cape Town, memories were gold.

At 18:54 South African Time, a knock on the door could be heard. It was some a South African cop with a search warrant. Jacqueline was the one to answer it.

“Hello,” the officer greeted her with a thick African accent. “Is Nathan Daniels here?”

“Ya sure,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Give me just a second.”

With this opportunity, she used her phone to signal a lockdown in the facility.

“He’ll be right with you.”

As she walked away, the cop grabbed her arm. “Allow me to accompany you, little girl.”

“I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“Oh, nonsense–”

He was cut off by her freeing herself and saying. “I’ll be under a minute.”

As she turned away, the gun concealed in her unzipped jacket became briefly visible.

“You’re not old enough to own one of those,” the cop said slyly.

“Laws can’t stand in the way of survivors.”

As she said this, she pulled out her pistol and pointed it at him.

“…and how long should this hold me off? Hours, days, weeks even. But there’s no chance in where I reside that it’ll stop me,” Jacob said, grabbing her throat, shoving her against a wall, and cutting off her oxygen. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be me, and so will your brother, and Alex, as well as the rest of you rats. There’ll be an army of me!”

“Says the guy who lived in the sewer for three months,” Alex commented. He had his shot gun cocked.

Jacob then released Jacqueline from his clutches and stared directly into the eyes of Alex, uttering, “Why must I make this speech? You simply can’t kill me. I am neither dead nor alive. I merely am and shall continue to be until the end of time.”

“If the whole entire universe is you, who will be around to fear you?” Nathan came in to ask.

“Perhaps I shall let a few unfortunate victims go, after all; wipe their memories clean. But in the meantime, it will bring me great pleasure in seeing my plague wipe out all that can remember.”

“And you start with us? People with no memory?” Alex laughed.

“What challenge will there be once we’re gone? Mob bosses and government officials?” Nathan asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Good point, let’s mix things up shall we,” responded Jacob, grinning.

“Look pal, you’re not the only one who’s unlikable,” Nathan said, seeing the fear in Jacob’s eyes.

This made Jacob laugh, striking fear into all but Nathan.

“We’ll see about that.”

Jacob then pulled out his revolver and shot Nathan just below the heart.

Masked and Lost in Thought

Masked

 

Hidden behind a mask

A true master of disguise

No one knows what he looks like

Hair as dark as night

Eyes as blue as sky

Tall and lean

Quick is he

No one knows where he is

No one knows what to do

He is an unstoppable force

Hidden from sight

 

Hidden behind a mask

A true master of disguise

He stalks his prey in the night

Quick as lightning

Swift as air

He is an unstoppable force

Hidden from sight

 

Hidden behind a mask

A true master of disguise

He saved me

The man in the mask

He saved me from drunken men

The master of disguise

Fought for me

He took down eight men

He left without looking at me

 

Hidden behind a mask

A true master of disguise

A hero thought to be a monster

How I hope to see him again

I want to say thank you

My masked hero

You saved my life

 

Lost In Thought 

How long will I live?
When will I die?
Is there a heaven?

Is there hell?

I’m lost in thought

 

Will I pass?

Will I fail?
Is there a god?
Is there a devil?

 I’m lost in thought

 

Are angels real?

Are demons real?

Will I fall in love?
Will my heart break?

I’m lost in thought

 

Do my friends care?

Does my family care?
Does my dog care?

Do my fish care?

I’m lost in thought

 

Why is life so hard?

What happens when you die?

Do we have souls?

Are we reborn?

I’m lost in thought

 

I will die

I will know if there is heaven

If there is hell

I will learn if angels exist

Demons live inside

I will fall in love

My heart will break

I’m lost in thought

 

My friends care

My family cares

My dog cares

My fish care

I care

I’m lost in thought

I’m lost in thought

 

Life, Death, and Rebirth (excerpt)

I woke up, trying to remember what had happened. It didn’t make any sense, that I had been lying on the ground three weeks ago and couldn’t remember why. I hadn’t been fed in a while. I didn’t recall how long. Every time the sun set, guards came into my cell and tried to get information out of me, and I always told the truth. I told them, I don’t know. Then, I got beaten and locked up again. My sweats and t-shirt were drenched in my blood and covered in dirt. I always thought about asking for a change of clothes, but I didn’t know how to put the clothes on. They looked like pictures in the big textbook (I thought that it was called that) which lay under my bed, ripped up and bloody.

More days passed by. Nothing happened, except for the usual routine. In the morning of what felt like my 50th day in the prison, a boy, who looked a couple years older than me, came in my cell.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a very grim voice.

I was silent. I tried to think. I couldn’t even remember my name. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

The boy looked at the guards, who shook their heads, and then he looked back at me. “Well, why don’t we give you a name, since you can’t remember yours.”

I just stared at him with a blank face.

He stared back. After a while, he spoke. “Why don’t we call you Phoenix?” said the boy. I cringed at the name. He then stood and gestured for me to stand. As I stood up, he nodded towards the door and muttered, “Let’s see how well he runs,” and swung a sword at my arm.

I jumped out of the way, but the sword grazed my shoulder and up my chest. As soon as the sword was out of the way, I sprinted towards the door. There were stairs, and three guys were already coming after me. I started skipping stairs and got out of the cellars.

As I got to the surface, a huge light blinded me, but I kept running. Soon, I got to a river. I started crossing and turned around. Huge groups of men in steel armour–either running or on horseback–were closing in. I hurried across the river and darted into the woods. I kept running, and when the sun finally started setting, I stopped. I found a hiding spot under a huge oak tree. As I sat there, I finally noticed how much the cut I got from the sword hurt. My blood-soaked shirt was turning black from all the blood. It hurt so much that it was hard to breath. I started losing consciousness. Before my vision went black, I saw a figure rushing towards me. It didn’t look like one of the knights, it looked like a regular person.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was the ceiling of a small cottage. Then, I turned my head and found a girl. She looked about 16 years old. She was washing what looked like a piece of cloth. Without looking, she said in a very soft, gentle voice, “Good. You’re awake.”

The gown she wore was slightly ripped but looked perfect with her icy blue eyes. She turned her head and looked at me. She walked over, took a stool, and made me sit up. As I struggled painfully to move, she propped my back up with a gentle hand as the other grabbed a few pillows and put them behind me for me to rest on. She then took a wooden bowl filled with water and put it on the table next to the bed.

She dipped the cloth that she had been washing in the water and put it on my chest where the sword had left a deep gash. I made a rather pathetic sound, but it portrayed the pain I was in.

She rested a hand on my chest next to the gash and whispered, “I know.”  

Her hair fell over shoulders in silky auburn waves. I looked into her soft eyes and didn’t take my eyes off them. It was as if I was being controlled to look into the depths of her eyes. After what felt like at most a few seconds, she got up and took the pot of water, which now looked like a pot of cherry Kool-aid, and went to the sink.

All of a sudden, a surge and images flashed through my mind. One of them was the book I had left in the cell. Another was me standing in front a group of  kids in single tables, there was also an older person with a clipboard. The room was covered with big pieces of paper with men like the ones chasing me. I suddenly started to remember things.

My name is Liam Cadmon Waterfield. I am 16 years old. I live in Manhattan, New York…

The girl turned and looked at me worried.

“I’m fine,” I gasped. Then stood up. As I did, someone broke the door down, and the boy from the cellar who gave me my new name barged in.

“What are you doing with him, Adrienne?” the boy said.

The girl retorted, “ Dillon, doesn’t he look familiar?” Tears started running down Adrienne’s eyes.

Dillon looked at her with eyes that gradually started to soften. “Oh, beloved sister. I know it hurts, but that isn’t him. This is a fugitive!”

“It is! Can’t you see? Cadmon came back!” Adrienne cried. Dillon looked blankly at her. “You loved him like a brother! How could you forget him?” Adrienne screamed and stretched her hand to touch my side. She then started pushing me back towards the bed.

Dillon stared at me with a hint of hatred. He then looked back at Adrienne. He walked forward until he was right in front of Adrienne, who was pressed against me, against the wall. “That, is not Cadmon. He is gone. Cadmon left us, you, for the war. He never came back. Understand? Cadmon isn’t coming back.” Then Dillon looked at me and said, “I want this guy back where he came from.” Dillon gave me a savage look and walked out of the cottage.

Adrienne was sobbing. She turned around, pressed herself against me, and cried into my chest. I didn’t know what to other than wrap my arms around her. She started muttering something that I couldn’t hear. Then the cottage as well as a crying Adrienne started to dissolve. As everything started going black, I heard a voice in my head saying, “Cadmon, come back for me.”

When I woke up, I was in what looked like my old bedroom. I got up, opened the door, went down the stairs, and found my parents sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window. They didn’t say a word. They both stared into the darkness with teary eyes. I suddenly made the ground creak and the they both turned. They stared at me for ten minutes without budging and then rushed forward and embraced me in a huge bear hug. I normally would have minded, but this was all I needed right now. Both my parents showing affection towards me, something I hadn’t had in a long time.

Mom was crying into my shoulder while Dad was squeezing me tight. I suddenly felt a surge of pain. I cried out, and they both go of me and looked at me with startled expressions. I looked down at the gash that went across my chest. It had opened again. As soon as my parents realized, they panicked.

“Liam, what happened to you?” my mother cried as my dad reached for the phone.

I couldn’t say anything, all I could think about was how much pain I was in. My mother was still trying to talk to me when the paramedics came. My mom reluctantly moved aside while my dad explained that I came home looking like that.

I spent a couple weeks in the hospital and then went back to school. Before I stepped in the doors of the school, I remembered all the beatings I had gotten right where I was standing. Someone bumped into me. I turned and thought I saw Dillon.

He looked at me with disdain and said, “Watch where you’re going, freak.” Then he walked away.

I remembered that I was the history freak of the school. I went into the school, dreading every step I took. I got through the day without having too much trouble. Most of the guys who had bullied me looked at me like they were actually relieved that I had come back.

As I walked to history, I realized that I had a presentation, and I didn’t have my textbook. I walked in the classroom and sat down.

“Ah. Liam. You’re back,” my teacher said.

I just nodded.

“Why don’t you give the presentation that was due almost a month ago?” she said.

I reluctantly stood up and walked to the front of the class. As everyone started sitting down, I stared at a poster which had a guy on it who looked like me, except at the bottom it said, The Great Cadmon. The last person who walked in was a girl. She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. She had beautiful icy blue eyes and shoulder-length silky auburn hair. She looked at me and smiled. It was brief, but there was a connection, I think. I swallowed. As all the students stared at me, I started talking. I mentioned medieval times and how guards were dressed. Then, I went into how prisoners were treated. When I was done, everyone clapped, as usual, and I went shyly back to my seat.

While we were learning about the crusades, someone poked me in the back. I turned and found the girl sitting behind me.

“Hey,” she said, “I loved your presentation. It was pretty cool. Umm… can you tutor me? I just moved here, like, a couple days ago. I didn’t learn the same curriculum.”

I didn’t know what to say. I nodded.

She then smiled and said, “Great! Can I have your number so that I can call you?”

We exchanged numbers, and then the bell rang.

As I was packing up, she whispered, “By the way, my name is Adriana.”

I smiled as she left. It was very rare for a guy like me to get asked to tutor a girl, especially one like her.  I walked out of the classroom feeling proud of myself and saw Adriana with the guy that looked like Dillon. She looked at me and called me over. As I walked over, the guy turned to me.

“This is my twin brother Damon,” she said.

Damon looked at me and nodded his head. “Hey.”

I replied with a, “Hey.”

Damon didn’t seem to like me very much. Later in gym, Damon came up to me as I sat down on the bleachers.

“Hey, why aren’t you playing?” he asked.

I looked up and gestured towards my shoulder, where there a gigantic wrap went across my chest and around my left shoulder.

“Wow. Where did you get that?”

I didn’t know how to explain that. I could have said, “The past you gave it to me. He picked up a sword and swung it at my face,” but I just shrugged. As soon as I did, I had to wince. My shoulder felt like it was being stabbed with a thousand needles. Damon just stood there and stared at me with a blank expression. I looked back at him and started to get up.

Suddenly, he grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me back down into the bleachers. “Look freak, I don’t like you. But since my sister does, I’m going to tell you this: if you ever hurt my sister, you won’t live to see your next day. Understand?”

I was so shocked and full of pain that I couldn’t say anything.

“Do you understand?” Damon yelled.

I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Everyone was crowding around to see what was going on. There was a wail and, as I turned my head, I saw a glimpse of Adriana pushing her way through the crowd of people. One of the football players pulled Damon off me as another went to help me get up. I was in so much pain that I could barely breathe.

Adriana ran up to me and knelt down next to me. “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was quivering and tears were pouring down her already swollen eyes.

I tried to nod, but there was no point in lying. I was not okay. I needed to go to the hospital.

Indigo Snow

This story is a fantasy about a solar system with only two planets. One is called Alasia, and the other is called Anesia. In this Universe, some people get magical powers. Everybody, however, has to prove that they are advanced enough to keep their power. They do this by getting the highest, or second highest, score on an exam that they take when they are 13. If you have a power, you get to live on Alasia. It is a much prettier planet with lots of high-paying jobs and good opportunities. Anesia is more like our world. There are some people who have lots of money and live very well, but most people are working-class. Nobody who lives there has a power. The form of government for this world is a monarchy. I hope that you enjoy this excerpt from the story!

 

Ember Wind

You can call me a triple agent.

I started hating Indigo before I even met her. She was basically a five-year-old celebrity. At first, I wanted to be just like her. Rich, famous, cool — but then I learned that it goes to your head. Manipulates your thoughts. Changes your attitude. Makes people always ready to criticize you.

I didn’t want that.

On the first day of school, everybody was surrounding Indigo and her family. They were saying how adorable she was in her little pigtails and bright pink dress. She shot out a little gust of snow and everyone clapped for her.

I was instantly jealous, along with every other student there.

But I knew what needed to be done. My parents told me to befriend her. I went along with it, because I was five so I hadn’t started to think for myself yet.

My parents went up to introduce themselves to her. As I was watching them, my dad pointed at me. Indigo and I made eye contact. I quickly looked away. As my parents come back over to me, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around, thinking it was just a parent who had mistaken me as their child. It turned out that it was Indigo.

Indigo introduced herself to me. I was surprised by how intimidated I felt. I knew that she was a person. But when she asked me what my name was, I could barely remember it, let alone say it. I ended up replying so softly it was little more than a breath. Indigo had cocked her head and said, “What?”

I got over being intimidated. I hated the way that she’d said that. It made me feel judged and less than her.

All of my jealousy came out in that moment. I said my name so loudly that she was probably startled, but she didn’t show it. I continued to say that I already knew everything about her and already had a picture that she had autographed, so I had felt no need to come over and meet her.

She stared at me with a peculiar look on her face. “Do you want to come over to my house this weekend?”

The question took me by surprise. But my parents had told me to become friends with her. I rushed off to tell them.

They were both pretty excited for me. I was so happy to make them proud. They also told me to ask about Caprice Winters by working it into a conversation. I nodded. I didn’t actually know what they meant, but I decided to do my best.

After I became close friends with Indigo, my parents explained why they wanted me to be friends with Indigo. It was so that I would become best friends with Caprice, the princess of the Universe.

Most people don’t know this about me, but I have an identical twin sister, Emily. She doesn’t have a power. My family was devastated on the day we turned five. There was a one in a million chance that she wouldn’t get a power, and she was that unlucky millionth person. We didn’t want Emily to have to move away to Anesia.

My parents decided to hide her away. We are a pretty common family, and Emily and I didn’t have other friends, just each other. So, it wasn’t that hard. There is no real authority making sure that everyone without a power moves to Anesia. That’s just the way it’s always been. It’s an expectation, not a requirement. I’m sure that there have been other cases like this.

My parents’ plan was to influence Caprice’s family. Since they were royalty, they could easily bend the rules for my sister. They could give her a stable job here at Alasia that didn’t actually require a power, such as a tutor. It wouldn’t be that hard for them to do. Plus, since they knew it would be hard for Caprice to make friends at school, they figured that she would be very loyal to me and help persuade her parents.

I had to pretend to be friends with Indigo for months before we did anything with Caprice. When the day came, my parents were overjoyed to hear that Caprice’s parents would be there too. My parents couldn’t come, but they had me put on my fanciest dress and told me to be on my best behavior.

“This is our chance, sweetie. Don’t blow it,” they said.

It turned out that we were just having a picnic. Caprice was in a dress much nicer than mine. She was very kind and had the best manners a five-year-old could possibly have.

That’s when I learned how the stuffed animal incident between Caprice and Indigo had really affected them. They obviously hated each other. Caprice was jealous and mad at Indigo, even though on TV Caprice’s apology looked so real.

It ended up getting really complicated. Whenever Indigo and I would talk, Caprice would interrupt Indigo and ask me a question. She completely abandoned all of her polite manners. It was very hard for me as a five-year-old. I didn’t know who to answer, Caprice or Indigo. If I answered Caprice, Indigo would get mad and wouldn’t invite me along to events with the royal family. If I answered Indigo, Caprice would get mad and not help Emily.

Luckily, the parents noticed what was going on. For being such wealthy people, they seemed to care a lot about a middle-class girl who was in an awkward situation. Or maybe they just wanted to uphold their reputation as genuine people.

The queen herself comforted me. It felt like a dream, almost. I never thought that this would ever happen to me. Then she made Caprice apologize to Indigo and me for being rude. She also invited me to come over to their house in a few days since Caprice wanted to spend time with me.

When I told my parents everything that had happened, they gave me a big hug. “You’re such a great twin sister,” they told me. “Emily is so lucky to have you. Now, be sure to be on your best behavior in the palace. And try to enjoy yourself, sweetie.”

I nodded. I was so excited to go to the royal home. They never did tours of it, and only super wealthy people could go in. So, if you managed to get in, there were always people asking you about it. It would be so nice to be the center of attention for once.

I could barely contain my excitement for the next four days. I could hardly pay attention to my level one wind studies class. Luckily, the teacher was used to five-year-olds having off days or weeks. She didn’t really care that much.

Finally, it was the day. My parents drove me over to the castle. We spent about 15 minutes going through security. They took my parents’ ID cards and triple checked that the queen had made the reservation. Eventually, we made it through.

We drove up to a huge parking lot. It wa filled with limousines and parts of the motorcade, but it was easy to find an empty spot.

My parents each took one of my hands as we walked up the front steps. My mom knocked on the front door. A man wearing a tuxedo opened the door. “Right this way,” he said as he directed us down the long hallway.

I looked all around me as I walked through the entrance hall. It felt like being inside of a kaleidoscope. There was glass everywhere, in all of the colors of the rainbow. There were paintings of past kings and queens that I recognized from a history book. As I walked, I could feel the plush carpet tickling my feet through my sandals. It felt like walking on a red cloud. I looked up, and there was a magnificent chandelier, glittering as it caught the multi-colored light coming in through the glass windowpanes.

It was beautiful.

Harry, the Guy who Took Being Ironic into an (Ironic) Art Form

 

Chapter 1: The Irony Begins

Harry sat in his room in Portland, ironically watching Shrek the Third and ironically listening to In the Aeroplane over the Sea. On his wall ironically hung posters depicting Nicolas Cage. In his wardrobe, ironically, were flannel shirts, tapered pants, and beanies. Harry was, ironically, a freelance writer. Harry flipped open his ironic Macbook and began to ironically type a rant on an Internet message board about how In the Aeroplane over the Sea was terrible. He was, ironically, typing in Comic Sans. Shrek the Third and In the Aeroplane over the Sea still ironically playing, he began to ironically read Homestuck on the Internet, his fingers ironically in the WASD position.

As In the Aeroplane over the Sea reached its close, Harry walked over to his ironic vinyl record player and, ironically, began to play his ironic bootleg of the John Cena theme song. Literally half of the limited space in his ironically minimalistic apartment was taken up by his ironic vinyl collection.
Sometimes, Harry ironically wished he was bald, so that even his name would be ironic. He ironically decided to shave his head. He walked into his cramped bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet, removing his ironic straight razor and some shaving cream. I don’t know exactly how you shave because I’m only twelve years old, but anyway Harry shaved his head. Unfortunately, he ended up with a lot of cuts on his head. Rapidly losing blood, he ironically called for an UberX because he was an ironic freelance writer and couldn’t afford a car. He had passed out the second he got into the car, but not before making an ironic comment about how it was fifteen minutes late.

After stepping out of the Uber at the hospital, he was hit by an ambulance. He passed out again, but not before appreciating the irony of the situation.

He woke up in an ICU, after which the nurse revealed he had been in a coma for three weeks, during which they had performed extensive surgery. The nurse showed him what he now looked like in the mirror. Harry screamed, but not because of the permanent, brutal scarring on his head.

He had forgotten his ironic beanie.

He used his ironic made-up style of martial arts to ironically throw the nurse out of the window and escape the room. He was only on the ground floor, so the nurse climbed back through the window and chased after Harry. How ironic.

After escaping the building and wincing in pain from his recent surgery from which he had not yet recovered, he ironically stole a smart car and floored the gas pedal. He had to get to his ironic beanie before it was too late. He ironically looked down and noticed that he was wearing a hospital gown. He wasn’t even wearing his ironic flannel shirt! Now he really had to get to his apartment. At least his ironic lensless glasses and curly mustache were intact.

While ironically driving on a road that wound through a forest, a deer jumped in front of the ironic smart car. Regretting that he had to take a life, but ironically determined to reclaim his ironic clothing, he ironically kept driving.

Harry woke up on the side of the road in the burning debris of the smart car. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the deer run away unharmed. He ironically resolved to ironically hate poorly constructed smart cars for the rest of his life. Still determined to reach his apartment, he ironically ran down the road until the soles of his ironic bowling shoes wore out and he stepped on a rusty nail, contracting tetanus.

At least he had made it out of the forest. Now he was within about a mile of his shabby apartment, which was only maybe a half step up from his parents’ basement, in which he had ironically lived only the previous year. Ironically flagging down another UberX, he gave the driver the directions to his apartment.

After stumbling into his apartment, he immediately and ironically put on his beanie and flannel shirt. He almost felt the power surging through his body.

Which wasn’t actually power, but spasms resulting from his tetanus.

Ironically, Harry fell to the floor unconscious.

Waking up in the hospital for the second time in one day, he was immediately put back to sleep by the same nurse he had thrown out the window. Before falling back into unconsciousness, Harry had just enough time to be amused by the irony of the situation.

When he woke up again, Harry was alone in the room. He thought about how ironic it was that he had been knocked out five times and counting in the space of just three weeks. He noticed a small speaker with an iPod connected to it. Ironically, Harry began to play Death Cab for Cutie. As Harry ironically looked out the window, he noticed a speck in the sky. Squinting through his ironic lensless glasses, he noticed that the speck was getting steadily larger. Harry didn’t have the time to appreciate any irony to be found in the situation, because that speck was an atom bomb, ironically launched by the Russian government.

Chapter 2: The Electric Boogaloo (Too Ironic to Live, Too Ironic to Die)

When Harry woke up again, it was in a tangled pile of metal that used to be the hospital bed. Ironically gazing into the distance, he saw a slowly rising mushroom cloud against a red-orange sky. Heh, red sky and Russians. Ironic.

So, he ironically thought, I guess Fallout is real. If that truly was the case, he would need some bottle caps. His alcoholic neighbor Dave would surely have those in abundance. Ironically heading to his apartment, he met a few lucky survivors, alive but irradiated. They passed a rumor among themselves that what was left of the US government was initiating secret emergency plan W.E.E.A.B.O.O., which involved asking the Japanese government for help. How ironic, thought Harry ironically, while ironically wondering what “W.E.E.A.B.O.O.” stood for. Sounds like something out of a Marvel movie. Ironically piecing it together through snippets of conversation, he learned that “W.E.E.A.B.O.O.” stood for absolutely nothing but a few government strategists thought it would be funny. Now that’s ironic.

He kept walking through the ruins of Portland, seeing dead hipsters everywhere, ironically worrying that he would encounter some kind of mutated monster. After reaching the place his apartment building used to be, he ironically observed that it had been torn out of its foundation and had landed some four blocks away. Thankfully, the dumpsters were still where he ironically remembered them to be. He started ironically digging through the trash until he had what he ironically felt was a sufficient number of bottle caps, around five hundred. Boy, was Dave’s alcoholism a livesaver.

He ironically looked up just in time to notice another atom bomb. Quickly (and ironically) jumping through The Waffle Window, he miraculously and very ironically survived yet again, but not after being knocked unconscious for, what, like, the seventh time? If Harry was conscious enough, he would probably appreciate the irony.

After waking up yet again, this time in the wreckage of The Waffle Window. He ironically set off to find a group of survivors he could stay with. After finding a group of about ten people, he attempted to buy food with his bottle caps, but nobody wanted them because nobody had played Fallout and they all thought he was weird.

After walking through the ruins of Portland for another few hours, failing to find any more groups of survivors, Harry ironically realized that after being knocked out seven times, he had probably contracted some kind of brain damage by now, not to mention his tetanus and probable irradiation. To take his mind off of his impending doom, he ironically wondered if the US government was in any way still intact, and, if so, were they initiating operation W.E.E.A.B.O.O.?

All this and more on the next episode of Dragon Ball Z,” ironically thought Harry, with a slight and ironic grin.

The group eventually (and ironically, thanks to Harry) decided that they would need to find shelter. They decided to split up in a small area and call to the others if they found anything. Ironically, Harry began to walk around and look for suitable shelter, ironically looking up just in time to see a falling i-beam.

Ha, got you for a second there. Bet you thought Harry was gonna get knocked out again. Well, you’re wrong.

Ironically grateful that he had dodged the falling i-beam, he ironically noticed that it had fallen from a mostly intact two-floor rowhouse. The front door had been torn apart by the explosion, so he walked through to see if it could house the group. He walked upstairs to ironically check out the second floor, when, ironically, he walked onto a part of the floor made unstable by the blast and fell through into the ground floor, falling on his head and ironically knocking himself out for the eighth time in three weeks.

He woke up just in time to hear that one of the survivors was calling the rest of the group over. He ironically rushed over and learned that he had found shelter in the form of a mostly intact McDonald’s. Ironically disgusted to have to stay in someplace so mainstream, he wanted to refuse, but, ironically, realized there was no other choice. He walked in through the doors and decided to see if he could scavenge a McFlurry. No matter how mainstream it was, Harry could always enjoy a McFlurry. It was one of the few things he enjoyed unironically, besides the act of being ironic itself. Ah, irony.

His fellow survivors claimed there wasn’t enough room in the McDonald’s, so they made Harry sleep on the roof. Harry began to ironically reflect. He wondered if it was his constant irony that made others alienate and dislike him.

Nah, he ironically thought, that couldn’t possibly be it.

Careful not to cut yourself on your edginess there, Harry.

Ironically, it wasn’t his edginess that was hurting him, but really his brain damage, steadily worsening tetanus, and now almost definite irradiation. Now if he could just find a way to be ironic about that. Then it hit him. He could be really ironic…by not being ironic at all. By deviating from his old personality, even he himself could be ironic!

It was brilliant. Even more brilliant than his ironic experimental ambient noise band, Injected Marmalade and the Instant Pity. No, wait, thought Harry. I have to stop being ironic. As he slowly fell into an unironic sleep, he resolved to be unironic for the rest of his life.

And then immediately forgot about it in the morning.

Chapter 3: F  E  E  L    T  H  E    V  A  P  O  R

Harry woke to the sound of incredibly loud vaporwave music. Marveling at how ironic that was, he set out to find the source. Being half-asleep, however, he forgot he was on the roof and fell off, knocking himself out. Again. When he woke up, the music was still playing. He decided to find the source, assuming it was a group of survivors. He also elected to abandon his group in favor of whoever was playing the vaporwave, because, whoever they were, they were probably a lot more ironic.

Oddly, he managed to pin down the location of the music’s source within the space of about one block, but it took him an hour or so to find where it was precisely. He finally found it within a very ironic restaurant, which he recognized. It was one of those places with an incredibly tiny menu and no custom orders. Good sign. Whoever was camped out here was maybe even more ironic than he was. He turned a corner and saw someone hunched over an iPod, hooked up to an absurdly (and ironically) large speaker.

“Hello?” Harry asked the person, carefully and a little nervously. The person’s neck turned around so fast Harry could swear he heard it crack. He immediately realized the person looked exactly like him. This “fake” Harry let out a piercing scream and the room went dark.

Harry wanted to panic but couldn’t speak. Then, suddenly, a flash of color appeared around him, and he felt like he was flying. Weird faces he didn’t recognize appeared and disappeared all around him, and suddenly, he was in space, flying around and through planets, into and out of galaxies, until he reached the end of the universe. All of a sudden, the vaporwave music started playing again, and the infinite stars and planets of space slowly faded away.

He was in the hospital bed. The nurse, after knocking him out, had given him twice the normal dose of sedative drugs. He had only just woken up. It took him a few moments to process his surroundings. He looked out the window. No atom bomb, no post-apocalyptic wasteland. The vaporwave was coming from the small Bluetooth speaker next to his bed, subliminally affecting his dream.

It was then that he finally remembered what he was thinking on the roof of the McDonald’s in his dream. He had been ironic for so long that he was too predictable. By doing something extremely unpredictable, he could be the most ironic man in the world. And the only truly unpredictable thing he could do was to stop being ironic.

By being unironic, he could be even more ironic.

And in truth, he had already begun. Notice how I haven’t written the word “ironic” as much in the past few paragraphs. He just didn’t know it yet. Lying in the hospital bed there, he resolved to buy some normal clothes and burn his flannel shirts and tapered pants. He resolved to at least reduce the size of his vinyl collection. To stop pretending he enjoys professional wrestling. To stop typing in Comic Sans. To stop watching Shrek. To stop using obscure Internet message boards. To maybe even move out of Portland.

To become unironic.

And by doing that, he achieved his goal of becoming the most ironic person in the world.

EPILOGUE

And then Harry died of anemia because his blood wasn’t iron-y enough. *Ba dum tss*

Flower Poem

A mirror stood in a dark, cold room

and displayed the image of a wilted flower.

Its petals gray and worn,

its stem weak and limp.

As the minutes passed,

it lost the little color it had,

and lost the little structure it had.

In front of the mirror stood a young, vibrant, firm flower

who looked at its reflection in dismay.

Although the flower was young and vibrant,

within seconds, it turned gray and crumbled.

There lay a dead, wilted flower,

with nothing to blame but a mirror.

What remained of the flower laid on the cold, hard floor,

and the mirror stood in the cold, dark room.

Evanescence

I have often found that

serendipity

is fleeting

(or perhaps even false).

One might say they have stumbled upon a little oasis

dotted with flowers and interspersed with

birdsongs

but even then can

mundane cacophony be heard,

(i.e., cars and people),

and those are all significantly louder than a

serene wind.

They were probably looking for it, anyway,

which ruins the sentiment.

it’s deciduous,

ephemeral,

false.

 

I once went to try and find something

serendipitous

(which contradicts the very nature of it all, but –

no matter)

and I couldn’t find it by listening to the birds

or gazing upon the trees —

they’re everywhere.

but I did find a sock,

draped neatly over a tree branch.

and it was frayed and sordid,

but I most certainly did not expect it to be there.

and perhaps it was not too beautiful,

but it gave off an essence of tranquility,

of mystery,

that someone was there once before me.

 

once, I saw a contest, run by the dictionary

and it was to take a picture that defined a word.

and so someone submitted one and it was a little flower,

growing in concrete and they called it:

serendipity

and if I’d taken a picture of a ragged sock in a tree

and defined it like so

I doubt I would have won anything

but still,

I found a tattered sock,

placed in a tree,

and called it serendipitous.

 

It was surely unexpected.

 

Dreams and Silence

The moon awakens to my feet

Who gently part the weaving wheat

Ahead, the shattered light of trees

Their branches seem to tug at me

 

No longer can I glimpse the glow

Of rooftop white with blowing snow

And here, the moon knives through the night

The leaves like puppets in the light

 

My shoes they stop where pastures end

And ghostly grove meets riverbend

Beyond, there’s only dreams and snow

And silence

Homophones

In my hands the blue teapot has a weight.

I can imagine where it lived in the old house

Where my grandma had to wait.

 

The dark walls rough as bark

Underneath my fingers.

Outside, I hear the guard dog bark.

 

In the courtyard, the beat

Of some hopping game my cousins play.

In the kitchen, strange cooking roots that look like beets.

 

I can tell my uncle’s coming from his gait.

He walks past and farther in,

Behind him the creak of the garden gate.

 

He stands by the family altar

All our names written in a book

Over years the pages hardly alter.

 

The drying laundry seems

Like ghosts

The wind crying over mended seams.

 

My mother speaking how she was taught

In her broken mother tongue

Waiting for her next word, the air grows taut.

 

Next to strange family, I palm

Their home made dumplings

And feel this round, blue teapot in my palms.

Commencement

Meryl sat at the end of the bed with her feet stretched out towards the carpet covered floor. George was reading a newspaper article in his same monotonous tone that had grown long on Meryl, but she loved it with all her heart. The air was sweet and thin with the smell of petunias and irony that cracked like a whip on a race horse’s calf. Meryl just sat and George just read and the slight hum of their bleach white fan glared over top of both of them. George stopped, and with angst and anxiousness all the like stared at Meryl. He set his newspaper down.

Meryl, Ive got something I want to tell you,George exclaimed while raising his paper thin hand to to adjust his night cap. Meryl, Ive got something to say and I dont want you to speak, just listen. Ive been reading the obituary, and Im seventy-four now. I will never understand those things, honor the dead by posting their worst picture in the paper. I mean for Christs sakes I can see right through their beady little eyes into their soul and there’s nothing in there but memories of their youth and beauty. Meryl, I want to say I love you and I have never been stingy with this phrase, when it comes to anytime of day or condition Im in. Meryl, I love you.

She rocked in anticipation of something unknown and it disturbed George to the fullest extent.

Meryl, say whatchadoinshakinlike that.His question came with no reply, but her uneasiness died down and her neck craned towards the ground, focusing on every dust particle within her line of sight. George gazed at her protruding spine and traced it with his gaze down to where her nightgown was no longer taut enough for it to show through. But with this pause came more words from George, he spoke with a sweet refrain

Meryl, Ill love you till the day I die, which is practically Tuesday. Yaknow I’ve never felt this way for someone, for this long, ever, and I juswont be able to bear leaving you, you’re the love of my life.His voice trembled with the thought of death, although he invited immensely, knowing it would take him away from his diminishing conscious, that was now only taken over with bits and pieces of memories and miniscule ideas. The atmosphere of the room depleted as Meryl began to shake vigorously again and havoc began to ensue, but peace was still noticeable in every form. She shook and shook, and George could only stare with a blank face, his physical body froze in an attempt to conceal his emotions. She stopped and turned towards him, her face was pale and drooped with every wrinkle, and he noticed the contours that now receded into her sad lonely structure, she once was beautiful.

George, Ill love you till the day I die, and that’s practically now.Her face drew slowly cold and she dropped once more to the bed, just as she had when they made love and the heavens sung their song of tranquility and infatuation. George picked up the newspaper with haste and scrolled with his eyes down to the left corner of the page he had been reading.

Meryl Smith: Dead at 78. Her epitaph shall read Death was beauty upon arrival and then swiftly took me from all I had ever known.’

Cookie Cutters and Green Aliens

 

“Daddy, what are those lights in the sky?” said Daphne, a five-year-old.

“They’re probably just spotlights from the movie theater,” her father said distractedly. It was late and Daphne was always asking so many questions.

“But I’ve never seen lights like that before,” she thought aloud as four lights zipped through the sky.

Her father, Will Jackson, walked over to the large bay window where Daphne was sitting. “There must be a movie premier,” he said. He tried to brush away his thoughts that the lights looked an awful lot like all those UFOs he’d seen on X-Files. There were four lights in a square shape that were moving in together and back out to a square. They had a silvery tinge in the cloudy night.

“Go to bed now,” Will said, looking at his phone. He was trying to figure if there was, for some reason, a movie premier in University Park, Maryland. There was not, he soon realized, a movie premier. Then what could they be! he thought. Maybe they’re searchlights, he tried to reassure himself. But then he took a look at the weird pyramid shaped house at the end of the street. He’d never been inside and the people who lived there never seemed to come out of the house.

 

“Amets, we have a problem,” said a little green man up inside one of the UFOs.

“What is it Placide?” groaned a very annoyed middle-aged lieutenant.

“We can’t seem to find the landing strip. There are so many small green patches and all these ‘houses’ look exactly the same,” Placide’s brow was furrowed and the architectural decisions of human beings confused him greatly.

“Those ‘small green patches’ are called lawns and it’s the only pyramid shaped house in the whole state how can you not find it?” Amets yawned, she was tired of the aliens obscure ways. “At least I’m retiring next month,” she mumbled to herself. Amets was human, but when she was a young girl she had been abducted by aliens. They persuaded her to help them with their journeys to earth. She trained with the young aliens at the ASA, Alien Spaceship Academy. She moved her way up in rank over the years and was now a lieutenant.

“I told you before that I am 212 and my eyesight is not very good anymore,” barked Placide while Amets snapped back to reality. ”Sometimes you forget that I raised and you should be thankful. You would have never been a lieutenant if it weren’t for me,” Placide said sternly.

“Uggggghhhh. Leokadia Hildr beam them down,” Amets didn’t feel like listening to Placide’s lectures right now. “Sometimes you forget that you would have never raised me if you hadn’t taken me away when I younger,” she said sarcastically.

“Right on it sir!” came the squeaky little voice of Leokadia Hildr. She was still training at the academy and was a little too enthusiastic for the lieutenant.

“Wait till the sky is clear,” came the annoyed voice of Lieutenant Amets Van Ballegooijen.

 

 

Daphne dreamed about the lights in the sky that night. She dreamed that the lights were spaceships and there were aliens inside. She flew the spaceship with help from the aliens. Then the spaceship crashed on the top of the pyramid shaped house and giant snakes started slithering out of the house. Then she woke up and ran out of her room. She hurled herself down the stairs as fast as she could and went out to see if the lights were still there. The lights were headed to the pyramid house at the end of the block! She clambered back upstairs to her parents room to tell them about the lights. “Mom! Dad! The lights are going to the triangle house down the street!”

“Shhh! Daphne I can assure you they’re just spotlights,” her mom whispered.

“No, come look! Their going to the house!” Daphne said excitedly.

“Alright I’ll come see,” said her mother entirely sure that her daughter was just having strange dreams but she knew that Daphne would never go back to sleep unless she went down to look at these lights. “See I told y-,” she stopped mid-sentence for there really were lights in the sky heading straight for the pyramid house at the end of the street. “Maybe I should go see if everything’s okay at that house,” said her mom, Heather.

“Mommy I want to come too!” Daphne almost screamed. She was so excited to figure out what was going on. “I saw it first!” she thought to herself.

“No, no Daphne. Go back to sleep,” Daphne was already snoring on the couch by the time she finished her sentence.

 

Where is the giant squid mucus Amets? I travel 8,000 light years to see the human I raised from when she was four years old and you don’t even buy me edible food,” said Amets’s alien stepmonster, Mahvash.

“They don’t sell that kind of food on earth Mahvash,” Amets said, exasperated.

“Where did I leave my things? I can’t seem to find anything these days with my terrible eyesight,” muttered Placide.

“Right here Placide. Geez, you guys have aged since I last saw you,” Amets said, amazed at how old her stepparents were getting.

Ding! Dong! “I’ll answer the door!” squealed Leokadia Hildr.

“No I got it,” groaned Amets. “Remember Leo, aliens never answer the door.”

“Yes sir!” Leokadia Hildr was constantly hyper.

“Hello? Can I help you?” said an irritated Lieutenant Van Ballegooijen. She was looking at a middle-aged woman with dyed blonde hair, hot pink nail polish, and a cheap spray tan.

“Hi! I’m Heather Jackson. I live right next door. I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning but I saw some strange light headed toward your house. I was wonder-,” she stopped mid sentence when she saw a figure in the background that seemed to be green. It appeared to have a really pointed chin and large eyes, also pointy. Its head was much wider than its body. And then there was another one, but this one had on eyeshadow and curlers in its bright blue hair. And there seemed to be one more, this one much smaller with its green hair in two pigtails. “Pardon my asking but what are those green creatures?” said Heather, sounding quite confused.

“Oh! Well, um. You see…” Amets was at a loss of what to say. The aliens were supposed to stay out of sight!

“You are feeling sleepy, very sleepy. Abba gooji blavah. There you go Lieutenant! She’ll never remember this at all!” said Leokadia Hildr, very excited to be able to help.

Heather was completely unprepared to be hypnotized and so she immediately keeled over on the floor. She was in a sleep state while they fixed her memory. They played the memory on a screen and changed it to seem normal.

“Wow,” said a stunned Lieutenant Van Ballegooijen. “That was actually really helpful. I think you earned yourself a Brigadier position.”

“Really?! Thanks Lieutenant!” Leokadia Hildr was over the moon.

“You’re very welcome.” Amets even seemed to have a little grin on her face.

“Alright. Alright. Enough mushy gushiness. Let’s wake up this human now before anything starts to look too strange. Where is she though? I can’t see a thing!” Placide hated it when things got sappy.

 

Heather didn’t know what was happening. It seemed like she was still in the pyramid house and the green creatures were crowding around her. But her senses were off so she couldn’t tell what was really happening. Everything looked fuzzy and she felt like she was deaf.

And then she woke up. She was back in her own room and she didn’t know what had happened. She remembered walking to the pyramid house. Then she talked to a woman who said she hadn’t seen the lights and everything was fine. Then she had walked home. But something about that memory felt wrong. “Oh well,” thought Heather. “It was three in the morning.”

 

The Jacksons and the aliens never interacted again. The Jacksons lived their normal, cookie cutter lives and never thought twice about the people in the pyramid house again. The aliens went back home to their own planet and Leokadia Hildr became a Brigadier Lieutenant. Amets retired in Maryland and was very happy there. Placide finally agreed to get contact lenses and can see very well now. And Daphne grew up and became an astronaut. She no longer has to dream about flying spaceships.

Castle

My mind is a castle made of silver and gold, sprinkled with gems.

There are no gates, no drawbridges, and everyone gets in.

But someone thinks it is funny, to act like a friend as they burn down my castle, destroy my paintings.

 

My mind is now a tower made of diamonds. But now there are walls and gates to keep traitors out. But some people slip in unnoticed. They become friends, allies, but when I give my heart to them, they take a mallet and shatter it.

 

My mind is now a dungeon surrounded by guards and walls. My heart has been fixed now, almost. Because something is missing. Something that I keep under lock and key. In a room with a door draped by chains. The room keeps something that brings only pain. Trust.

An Excerpt from an Untitled Novel

Chapter 1

As Susan approached the mail chute, she played back his words in her head. Do not go anywhere near the fifth floor. The strange man in front of the seemingly abandoned building had not been clear when he warned her. Despite her questions, he refused to explain the dangers of the fifth floor, which only made her more curious to find out what was lurking there. Her intentions were never to put herself in danger, but she could not imagine what could possibly go wrong if she simply stepped inside to take a look for herself. Worst case scenario: I’ll scream, she thought, and someone should be able to hear me. True, there aren’t many people around here, especially as it’s 2 a.m. in Brooklyn, but someone ought to be passing by. That old man, for instance. Susan recalled the man’s words again, but it was too late now. She was already on the fifth floor, slowly walking towards the mail chute which had an odd, almost tangible aura around it. The man could’ve just been a lunatic, she thought, an escaped asylum patient. But she couldn’t deny that she felt something strange and different when the ancient staircase led her to the fifth floor. As she suspected, the building was abandoned; in fact, it was completely bare. All except for the single mail chute.

Susan was now close enough to notice an aged envelope lying there, and grabbed it to discover what it contained. Was this why the man warned me? Is there something in this letter I shouldn’t know about? she wondered, but tried to get the thought out of her head; he was insane, after all. The front of the envelope only contained a capital T written in indigo ink, with smudges on the side. With growing interest, Susan grabbed the envelope, attempting to open it, but before she could, an intense pain from her fingers began to distribute to the rest of her body. Wincing in pain, she cowered, suddenly realizing that her legs somehow looked smaller. With her hand before her eyes, she gasped as she watched each finger slowly shrink. By the time her mind could wrap around what was happening, she was already a miniscule fraction of her once tall and wide frame. Susan became just small enough to fit into the mail chute.

In spite of her better judgment, she sprung up high like a flea into the chute, and soared through its winding tunnels. The faster she fell, the weaker she felt. Her orientation was almost non existent, as she could no longer tell whether she was falling face down, sideways, or not at all. This is just my imagination. I’m at home. In my bedroom. Sleeping. This is just my imagination. This is just my imagination. But no matter how hard Susan tried to convince herself, she knew that the unexplainable events of the day were real. It was only two hours ago that I found John dead. It was only two hours ago that I ran from the house, heading nowhere. It was only an hour ago that I stumbled upon this place. It was only a minute ago that I made the mistake.

Bend after bend, tunnel after tunnel, Susan fell onto a concrete surface. I can feel that barbeque chicken pizza coming back up, she thought as she was overwhelmed by vertigo. Once the dizziness began to fade, she got on her knees and stood up, trying to figure out her surroundings. What she first thought was a regular road, was actually a thick piece of paper. What she first thought to be flowers or trees, were actually multi-colored ink marks. Some were sky blue, others navy; some grassy green, others dark forest. Squinting her eyes, they appeared as letters written in calligraphy. Her first instinct was to laugh; this could not possibly be what she thought it was.

“Watch out!” a deep voice echoed behind her. Susan spun around, only to come face to face with a horse black as coal. “Would you watch where you’re going, Miss? Some of us are in a hurry!” a man perched on top of the horse bellowed, his face turning the shade of a tomato. “And please do yourself a favor and put some clothes on!” What does he mean? I’m wearing a dress. The dress I wore to the dance. The dance I went to with John. Once he passed, it struck her that she was in the middle of a papyrus road. Old fashioned carriages pulled by the finest horses she had ever seen were passing by; the horses almost looking two dimensional like paper cut outs. Still, they galloped forward, obviously not restricted by their unusual form. She crossed onto what she assumed was a sidewalk, with its lightweight paper curbs and risen platforms. The individuals strolling along were not exactly the typical New Yorkers she was used to seeing on a daily basis. The girls who wore short shorts, the guys who wore baseball jerseys. These people were different; their clothes, their manner, their features. Susan had never seen such long, elaborate gowns, or such elegant, colorful hats. Not one of them had their ankles bare, or their back slumped. Each lady that passed looked more superior than the last. The men, likewise, looked like they had just come out of a Jane Austen novel. Mr. Darcy’s were surrounding her like tourists in Manhattan. Monocles, top hats, and waistcoats were all she could see; and she could not look away.

Again, she laughed, attracting attention from the 18th century-like crowd. This is some joke. Some sick, horrible joke. This day didn’t happen. It didn’t.

“Ow!” Susan’s thoughts were interrupted as a heap of sheets fell down on her, knocking her out of place.

“There’s no place for prostitutes in this town!” she heard a thick cockney accent from above. Susan glanced up at the paper houses, but the owner’s voice had disappeared. Without a second thought, she wrapped herself in one of the lace sheets, creating a makeshift ankle length skirt, to cover up the short mint green dress she had worn earlier this evening. John had loved it. She recalled the way he made her spin around in it, watching as the tulle fabric danced around her. It seemed like the start to a memorable night. And yes, it was memorable, but not in the way she would have ever wanted.

“My, you seem to be quite lost,” a pale faced lady said, looking her up and down as if she were a dirty peasant. Well, I sure must look that way to her.

“Uhh- Well, yes, I am. I’m really lost, actually. Could you, um, tell me where I am?”

“Certainly, my dear. You are on Quill Lane, right across from the park,” the woman replied.

“Yeah, but,” Susan paused, not quite sure how to ask the question. “Which country am I in? Or is country not the right term? Which land am I in?”

“Which land? What do you mean, child? There is but one, and this is it. Triarta,” the woman seemed caught off guard, thinking she must be talking to someone suffering from amnesia. “Poor child, you must come with me. You’ll be better soon, and when you are-”

“Triarta. With a T?” Susan interrupted.

“Why, how else would you spell it?”

It makes sense now. Susan thought back to the envelope she saw. A single, indigo T written across. The entrance to this country, this land, this world. Triarta.

All Kinds of Wonderful

In a hole in the wall there lived a mailman. It was a damp, dusty hole, a small apartment full of dirty dishes and ripped shoulder bags and a musty smell. The mailman was not only a mailman. At least, he strived to be more. Everyone else seemed to be so many things: a brother, a daughter, an athlete, a musician, a lover, an adventurer… But Frank was just a mailman.

Every morning, Frank would turn off his alarm, roll out of bed, slowly button his starched blue uniform, grab a PopTart, and dash off to work. And work was where Frank’s life began. There was nothing in this world that made him happier than carrying letters, packages, and catalogues to the homes of suburban families. It gave his life meaning to know that each silver-haired businessman and young craft-blogger wife would receive each and every advertisement and private-school tuition bill on time. That was who lived in those fancy houses and tended those manicured lawns, wasn’t it? Frank never really paid attention to the people who left him Christmas checks in their mailslots. He didn’t even really pay attention to the mail he delivered. All that mattered to Frank the Mailman was the address on each envelope and the number on each door. He lived life door to door, satisfying his hunger for achievable goals with delivery after delivery and paycheck after paycheck. Frank’s rhythm of living had never been disrupted, and never would be for as long as corporate monoliths continued to send forests-worth of catalogues and fund drives to potential customers around the country. Or so he believed, until one fateful day in the dead of winter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Besides the occasional aggressive dog scratching on a locked door or unsalted, unshoveled walkway post-snowstorm, Frank had never really had difficulty getting mail to each door. Today’s challenge was entirely unfamiliar to the determined young mailman. Never before had he ever faced an obstacle so… impenetrable. As he arrived at the door of the first house on the street, Frank found himself at a loss. He had not the slightest inkling of what to do: the mailslot was boarded shut. Who boarded their mailslot shut? Were they trying to give their friendly neighborhood mail carrier an existential crisis? Frank turned away from the door and took a deep breath. Clearly the owner of this Craftsman-style, painfully beige home did not want to receive any mail (though Frank could not begin to fathom why). But he had a job to do.

“Screw the homeowner,” Frank muttered softly. “I am delivering this mail and that is that.” He slowly raised his fist to the door, freezing in place without making contact. The young mailman took three slow, deep breaths and knocked. Three times, he knocked, boney knuckles striking glossy beige paint over dense wood. No response. Frank waited a full minute before knocking again. BANG… tat-tat. He let out the breath he had been holding as the sound of footsteps began deep within the house. The door creaked slowly open.

Frank’s heart stopped as the most beautiful face he had ever seen appeared in the doorway. The face looked down at him from inside the house.

“How can I help you?” Frank blinked as the man in front of him spoke.

“I… have your mail, your mail slot’s boarded shut?” He stuttered over his words as he struggled to breathe in the presence of an almost inhuman beauty. Frank had never really noticed people’s faces before. Other people had just never really interested him. But this man– well, this man was something special. His green eyes shown wide with fear, and his thin, delicate lips were pressed tightly and nervously together. He took one deep breath before speaking to the mailman.

“I don’t want any mail. It’s always either ads or people.” Frank thought for a second before answering.

“I delivered mail to this house yesterday. Did you just move in?” The handsome stranger nodded slowly.

“The houses are farther apart here. Less neighborly. Please take your mail and go,” he turned away and closed the door.

Frank, not wanting to contribute to the furrow of the green-eyed man’s brow, did as he was told. But as he continued on his route that day, he could not keep his mind off the gorgeous, paranoidly detached young man in the beige house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another day, another truck full of mail, and Frank was eager to get to delivering it all. But as he arrived at the first house on his route, he remembered yesterday’s excitement. The beautiful stranger’s mailslot remained boarded shut. Frank froze in indecision as he pondered what action to take, torn between fulfilling the man’s desire to be left alone and completing his set task. And, though he would never admit it (especially to himself), Frank really did want to look into those wide green eyes just one more time. There was something about them. Something new and unfamiliar and overwhelming that drew Frank in and would not let him turn away. His decision was made– Frank climbed intrepidly up the stairs from the road to the man’s front porch.

This time he did not hesitate. He knocked three times, sharply and quickly: rat-tat-tat. And again. Frank was just about to rap on the door for the third time when he heard the soft sound of the man’s feet padding up to the door. It creaked open.

“I said I don’t want any mail,” the man said, promptly swinging the door shut–

“Wait!” Frank blurted, pushing the door slightly open again. “It’s just mail!” The man tried to slam the door in Frank’s face, but the mailman stubbornly held it open.

“I’ll call the police if you don’t le–”

“I’m Frank,” he interrupted the stranger’s threat.

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, the man responded, “Aaron.” It occurred to Frank that Aaron’s confusion was not directed at him, but within. Aaron did not know why he answered. Neither did Frank know why he had asked.

“Aaron,” he repeated softly. The name felt strangely comfortable on his tongue. “Why are you so afraid, Aaron?” Frank surprised himself by inquiring.

Aaron’s green eyes widened with shock. “Please leave. You’re my mailman. Goodbye, Frank.”

“Aaron! Wait!” Frank put out his hand to stop the door as Aaron began to close it yet again. As Frank looked past the door and into the house, he saw his beautiful stranger standing in a room like in one of his catalogues that he delivers every day. The room just within the doorway was a living room, filled with neatly-stacked books and impeccably-folded blankets. But there were no pictures. No Christmas cards. No evidence of a human life. In a way, it reminded Frank of his own living room. He had no pictures either. He received holiday cards from his parents and his sister’s family every year, but he just threw them out. Frank was anything but sentimental. Looking into Aaron’s house, it occurred to him that maybe this other man was afraid of connecting with people, rather than simply uncaring.

Frank was shaken out of his introspective daze by a loud ringing from within the house.

“Are you gonna get that?” he said to Aaron.

“No. It’s either a telemarketer or someone I used to know.”

Frank sighed. Turning around and leaving Aaron forever was certainly not an option anymore.

“What do you want, Frank? I don’t want your mail. I told you. Please just leave me alone.”

“I…” Frank paused. What did he want, really?” And before he knew what he was saying, Frank had done the unthinkable. “I want to take you on a date.”

Aaron stared at him, his face expressing the same shock that Frank felt. “Wh… wha– mm… Friday at 6:30,” Aaron stuttered, and slammed the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank had not been on a date since high school. He actually had just never really desired one. The whole world seemed to be focused on dating and love and all that, but Frank was never really interested, which would concern him if it were not for the fact that nobody interested him, ever, except Aaron. Frank had only met him three days ago, and already he was feeling something completely new to him.

He danced nervously on the curb outside his car, hesitant to approach Aaron’s house for non-mail purposes. Nothing in Frank’s life was ever for non-mail purposes. But he knew that the apprehension he was feeling was nothing compared to Aaron’s utter terror. Frank took a deep breath and walked to the door.

Three slow, nervous knocks later, Frank was looking into Aaron’s eyes for the third time. The taller man was dressed in a crisp blue button-down and grey khaki pants. He had clearly put effort into his appearance.

Frank smiled. “Ready?” Aaron grimaced.

“I don’t know, Frank, I’m not sure I want to do this… I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m sorry.” He turned to close the door, but Frank blocked it. This seemed to be becoming a pattern. How odd it was for Frank to be the one encouraging interaction. His place was usually Aaron’s, the one closing the door on someone who only wanted to connect. But Frank closed doors out of apathy. Aaron closed doors out of fear.

“Aaron. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy if you don’t want. I just… I’ve never wanted to do this, whatever this is, with anyone else, and now that there’s you, and you’re afraid, and I don’t know why, I just can’t turn away. And I don’t think you can either. You set the date, and I’m getting the feeling that’s not really your thing.” He paused for breath. Frank had not used his voice for anything this important in his life. Nothing had ever felt so important. Aaron stared at him for a while before answering.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. Let’s go.” Aaron stepped over the threshold and locked the door behind him. Frank noted his key in his hand. Aaron’s change of heart must have occurred the moment Frank knocked on his door. The two men walked together to Frank’s car and got in. They spent the ride in tense silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frank stared at the glass in his hand, spinning the ice around with his straw. What had he been thinking? Here they were, Aaron telling him about his interests and his family, and Frank had nothing to say. He had no interests. He never talked to his family when it was not required. All he really cared about was delivering mail. So he just kept asking Aaron questions, which made the other man extremely nervous.

“Frank? Why do you need to know so much about me?” Frank swallowed.

“I don’t, I’m just interested. Maybe. I don’t know, I’ve never really been interested before.” He looked across the shiny, beat-up wood table into Aaron’s deep green eyes as he admitted this.

“Frank. I don’t know if this is such a good idea. What if you hurt me? What if I hurt you?” Aaron spoke with urgency. “I mean, someone’s going to get hurt. It always happens. It’s inevitable, Frank, the world hurts.” Frank nodded. It made sense that the man who boarded his mailslot shut felt that the world was out to get him. But Frank couldn’t really relate.

“You know, I don’t think it does. The world is just kind of there. Why bother doing anything other than survive? I deliver mail to buy food to eat food to live. It doesn’t have to hurt.”

“But that sounds so boring,” Aaron responded. “I mean, if all there is is survival, why would you even want that?” It was a good point, Frank thought. He had never really thought living was an option. Life, and life only, is compulsory.

“Well, it’s better to not care than to be so scared of getting hurt, isn’t it? At least I can live.”

“But can you? Do you?” Aaron asked. This question was one he had asked himself often. Frank, though, had never felt the need. But now it had been asked. And it needed an answer.

“No.” Frank was suddenly struck by a sense of possibility. Things could change for him. Things needed to change. Frank had never seen value in caring, but now he saw the opportunity for all kinds of wonderful in human connection. He saw potential for joy he had never thought to desire. And across the table, looking into his eyes, Frank had a sense that Aaron was feeling a similar sensation. Here he was, feeling something beautiful, and seeing potential for more than just pain. The fear was still there, still just as strong, but the hope he felt was overpowering. In a rare moment of bravery, Aaron leaned across the table and pressed his lips against Frank’s.

Frank forgot how to breathe. This was something new, something he never wanted to forget. In the moment before Aaron pulled away, Frank caught himself thinking,

You know, maybe there’s more to life than mail.

A Cut On My Finger

I wrote a poem about a cut that I got on my finger

because it didn’t hurt

and I thought it was strange

the line of red

lulling out.

I put my finger in my mouth

and let the sweet rust

spread across my tongue

as a coat

of armor

and it still didn’t hurt-

that cut on my finger

so thin like the paper that made it

a double edged blade

made of sweet

of not caring for pain anymore

In that moment I had an immunity

That couldn’t be felt

and couldn’t be seen

I wrote a poem about a cut

that I got on my finger

because I thought it was strange

that I didn’t hurt anymore.

Josh

I like being alone because it’s the opposite of being with people. I’m only in my thirties, and I’m already completely exhausted with human relations. I live for the moment where I get to go home from my job, from the long, tedious day of labor. Not that the labor itself is so bad, but I can’t stand the humiliation of it. The people. Just today at work, I was reminded of all my ex-friends who are more successful than me when I saw a group of fancy consultants wearing ties walking down the street. And there I was, collecting trash from their houses. I hate that I have to do that.

Every Thursday, I start in the south neighborhoods. The poor ones. You would think their trash would be the worst, but actually, the rich people’s is sometimes more disgusting. Not saying it’s fun in the south, though. It’s not. I’ve just become numb to the whole process at this point. Nothing changes, especially not in the projects. When I reach a new neighborhood, I jump off the truck, run down the street as fast as I can, and have to manually pick up every single bag of trash these people leave out. I used to think about it a lot more, you know. I used to wonder what was in the slimy white bags. I wondered what these people ate, how much they slept, what their families were like. I used to look at their houses, look at the scenery. Now I don’t wonder. It’s just trash, and their houses are all run-down anyway.

Once I’ve made it all the way down the street, I have to haul the bags back to the truck. Then, my partner in the truck has to help me load them in the back. My partner’s always the same. Joe. We don’t talk much, but there’s an understanding there. He’s a big guy, bigger than me with more muscle. I’m a little more pudgy, to be perfectly honest. Joe’s married with kids, but we don’t talk about it. I’m not either of those things. He knows this. Our communication is nonverbal. It’s like, he throws the bags in there for me, and then I sort them out, putting the big ones on the bottom and the smaller ones on the top, optimizing the space.

We make our way up north. I can see the colors getting clearer, more flowers popping up, you know the way you always do when you get into a “nicer” area. It’s like some kind of eternal fog has been lifted and the blue sky is back in sight. But somehow, it’s not comforting. The rich people are arrogant. They always give me pointed stares from the street, and I have to look away. I’ve never lived in a rich area. Where I live isn’t extremely poor either, it’s somewhere in the middle. I’ve always lived in areas like that- not beautiful, but not horribly maintained. Not big houses, but not tiny ones either.

Once I get into rich neighborhoods, it’s the same thing as the poor ones. But like I said, their trash is different. Not the actual content, but how they take care of it. They’re lazy, because everything is handed to them on a silver platter. They never tie the bags up all the way, so I have to push wrappers and tissues and apple cores in the bag. My hands always get nasty. I carry around some sanitizer back in the truck, just because I hate the smells that linger on me. These streets have less houses per street, because they’re more spread apart. So there are usually less bags to carry, thankfully. But in the end, it still takes just as long. Joe sits in the truck, waiting. He plays with his hands a lot, but doesn’t do anything of substance. What is there to do?

At the end of the route, we drive the truck back to the city department depot. It’s the same every day. I have a fuller route on Thursdays, but I do other jobs for the rest of the week. Refuel other trucks, plan alternate routes in case of bad weather, supervise other workers. I’m somewhat of a senior, as is Joe. We’ve been working here for ten years. There’s so much shame in it, in these jobs. I would be lying if I said I was proud of what I do. But I am committed. There’s a difference.

I wanted to be a schoolteacher. I liked kids. A lot more than adults, for that matter. I’d never liked adults, but “teacher” seemed like a good profession where I wouldn’t have to deal with them that much. I applied to two public schools in the area. Application denied. Couldn’t be a teacher. I gave up. Don’t know why. I just lost hope. After that, I waited tables for a couple years. I hated it. Way too much interaction, people stepping all over me, entitlement. “This isn’t what I asked for. I wanted the mashed potatoes, not the sweet ones.” Who raised these people, I grudgingly thought to myself. I needed something more solitary.

Garbage collecting it was. I had always been pretty strong, and I was able to manage the routes. I didn’t think it would be the time of my life, but little did I know how it would depress me. I’ve lost contact with all my friends from college. It’s not like I ever had many. I had a lot of anger issues in college. I was very impulsive. Made bad choices. I only had two or three real friends. One of them is a consultant now, one is a lawyer, and one is some kind of business associate. They’ve all done better than I have, by the normal standards of success. We kept in touch the first few years after college, but after that, it just stopped. I still once in a while get Christmas cards from one of them, Rob. He’s married and has a beautiful family. It hurts to see. Christmas cards always do. They’re just reminders that everyone else has figured it out, and I’m just here. I mean, I do have a steady job. That’s something. And I boat. That’s the one thing I truly love. I love the water. I boat, sometimes fish, I swim too. On the weekends. The water is comforting, because it’s so otherworldly. A place where not everything is hot and sweaty and dirty. Dealing with trash collecting, dirty is unfortunately my normal.

Is there anything else important? My parents are both alive, still married, whether it’s happily or not I don’t know. I talk to them sometimes, but not that much. I was never very close with my parents. I never fought with them either, but I just never connected with them on much. If that’s not horrible to say. I was always close with my siblings, though. I loved my little brother. He was kind of a quiet kid, and had trouble standing up for himself. I remembered one instance when I was in 7th grade. He would have been in third. Some kid called him a retard because he was having trouble with multiplication or something. Stuart came home sobbing. He was so sensitive. The next day, I hunted that kid down after both of our schools were finished for the day. That was where all my anger issues, my dislike of people began. How could anyone be mean to my small, kind, mousy brother? I didn’t understand it.

Nowadays, Stuart’s learned to stand up for himself. He’s still a pretty non-confrontational guy. He gets along with everyone. I wish I was like that. I guess I get along with the guys at work, but there’s been a couple times in the last few years where I’ve just had these fits of rage. Like there was a time when I beat someone up in a McDonald’s parking lot. Another time, I told someone else who was boating at the same time as myself to shut up for no apparent reason. But the worst of it all, and I mean the worst, was when I yelled at a homeless guy on the street and ended up in the hospital. Let me backtrack.

It was a hot, hot summer. Very humid outside, the kind of summer where you can’t escape the sun’s glare. A week before, I’d been boating and holding my sunglasses in my hand. I’d fumbled a bit and they’d fallen straight into the ripples of the water. Gone. Now I had no shield.

Besides going down to the water, I’d been trying to stay inside as much as possible this summer. I much preferred the cool air coming from the AC vent to the air outside. But I hadn’t been to the grocery store in a month, and my various staple foods (tomatoes, tortilla chips, et cetera) were growing rotten and stale. I decided I would make a very quick round downtown and then return. I wouldn’t dally there. I’d been in a bad, brooding mood all week. Some new, too-talkative trash collectors had gone on the wrong route, deposited the wrong trash in the wrong place, and wreaked havoc on the entire system. This had happened more than once. I managed to keep myself together, but something was bubbling at the surface.

I walked out of my house into the scorching sun and felt its rays beat directly on me. I shuddered and headed straight into my car. I always hated driving downtown, and today was no exception. People were so disrespectful. When I saw them throwing trash down on the ground, letting bottles and cans loose from their hands, I felt a sting in my chest. I have to clean that up. I’m their maid. I have to work for these people. I told myself to breathe, not to lash out.

I had made it all the way to the grocery store when I opened my car door to an interesting sight. A seemingly homeless, blonde man wearing a cap and long pants (despite it being summer) was begging passersby for money. Typical. I didn’t know why I had no sympathy. Was I a psychopath? I didn’t have much time to ponder this before I got out of my car and thrust myself into total disaster.

“Excuse me? Do you have any spare change?” His tone was far from polite, I felt. I didn’t want to give him any money.

“No, not right now,” I said gruffly and began to walk away. Most homeless people would leave it at that, you’d think. But he was ruthless.

“Please. I’m really hungry and I just want to eat something.”

That’s when I felt myself tip. Into unknown territory. It’s like a monster took over my body and my hands and my mind and I wasn’t me anymore. I couldn’t have been responsible for what happened next. I won’t hold myself responsible for it.

“Shut up!” the monster screamed.

“I can’t stand desperate people like you begging people like me for money. I don’t have time right now. Leave me alone.”

The eyes of the homeless blonde guy, who I later learned was named Henry, widened like a deer in the headlights. I was about to briskly walk away and into the grocery store to fulfill my actual purpose of being downtown when some random decided to add insult to injury. He approached me with a confrontational expression on his face.

“Dude,” he said. I stood still, waiting for the punch line. “Don’t be such a jerk,” he said to me.

“Come on. That guy is homeless. Seriously, just give him some money.”

First of all, why couldn’t this man just mind his own business? Second…I never formulated a second.

That’s when a blinding light flashed in front of my eyes. My palms were sweating. It felt like I was above my body, like I was watching myself. Watching this monster. His fist outstretched. He punched the man straight in the gut. The man doubled over. I felt myself return back to my body. I was nauseous.

I woke up in a bright white room very suddenly. Jolted alive. Tied down to a chair with an oxygen checker on my arm. No one in sight. What happened to me? I felt chills all throughout my body, and an anxious feeling as though I was crawling out of my own skin. A nurse came in. Oh. I was in a hospital. Wait- why?

“Excuse me? Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Her seemingly once-warm brown eyes looked tired, tired of this work. I didn’t blame her.

“Look, I’m just the nurse. I need to get the doctor that was working with you in.” I breathed in and out a few times before responding.

“Okay,” I finally mustered. I felt slightly calmer now that there was someone coming.

A few minutes later, a male doctor with short brown hair and a white coat approached the chair.

“You woke up,” he said. I nodded.

“I guess I did. Look, I really want to know what’s going on.” He looked down at a paper next to him. My records? Notes about whatever was happening?

“It seems that earlier this evening you got into a fight. All we here know is that you punched someone and they punched you. You both passed out and were checked in to the ER in ambulances at about 6 o’clock. I can’t tell you anything else about the other man involved, for confidentiality purposes. All I know is that now you’re awake, we need to get you all checked out and make sure you’re fine.”

It was exactly one hour from when Dr. Malfour said that and when a new nurse came in to poke and prod me. I was pretty sure I was fine, and they seemed to think so too, considering they gave multiple other patients priority. Which was okay with me.

I will never forget how it felt in that emergency room. I have never liked hospitals. They make me tense and put me on edge. But they can also be places of inner revelations, of thinking about things you’ve never thought before.

I had none of my belongings with me in the ER. I never even bought my groceries. Thinking was all there was to do.

Why did I punch that man? The simple answer was, I lost my temper. I lost my temper and I wasn’t thinking and I wasn’t myself. That was crystal clear, because the normal me couldn’t have done this. The normal me got mad and lashed out, but couldn’t have punched a stranger on the street.

The deeper question to ask myself: why was I so angry?

Once when I was in seventh grade, I was sitting in my newly-painted blue room, lying on my bed. Listening to music. I recall it was classic rock, though I can’t remember the artist or the song. It was October, and I remember the paint smell and the crisp smell of the air from outside my bedroom window blending together to create a distinct fragrance. I was peaceful.

My inner calm was abruptly interrupted by the front door opening and shutting. Stuart was home.

My little brother annoyed me as all little brothers (and sisters, for that matter) can, but I was protective of my sibling and loved him very much. I still remember him running up to my room, thrusting the door open. His little voice trying to speak but being interrupted by tears.

“Josh. G-g-guess what happened today? Seventh period?” My attention was all on him now.

“What happened? Stuart, come on. Tell me.” He gulped out the story. That a kid had called him retarded because he had had trouble with some timed multiplication game the teacher had made them play to help them learn. My brother didn’t like the pressure of being timed, or any pressure at all, and was known for caving. I shook my head in distress.

“What did your teacher do about it, Stew? Did she get that kid in trouble?” I felt my fists ball up. I needed justice to have been served. But somehow, I knew it wouldn’t have been.

“B-b-barely. She made him sit outside for a few minutes, that was it. He barely got yelled at.” The vision in my mind of my brother’s blue eyes and puppy-dog expression was as clear to me in the emergency room as if it had happened the day before. The camera lens in my mind zoomed in on his face, in and in and in until finally, he disappeared.

This was the first time I ever felt this anger. My heart beating out of my chest, my fists squeezing over themselves.

Right as my brain was circling around, a new nurse came back into the room. She tested my blood, and performed a quick physical examination on me which included checking for injuries. In all the quantifiable ways, I was fine. “You’re fine,” the cheery redhead chirped.

They chalked this episode up to my “mental health.” Very vague. They recommended that I go to therapy for my anger. Screw that, I thought, my introspective self from moments before almost completely vanishing into the distance. I left the hospital and walked back to where my car was. I could go back to work the next day. And I did. As far as I was concerned, this experience could be water under the bridge.

I told Joe what happened the next day. I’m not sure why I did. I didn’t really think we were friends, but at the same time, we were partners. We were picking up trash from a new neighborhood on the west side of town. It was a very quaint area. The people somehow all seemed small and insignificant. The way I liked them. They seemed like the type who would mind their own business. There was something that calmed me about the place, how it was pretty but not perfect. I felt at ease, dangling my feet below me.

“I punched a guy yesterday,” I blurted as we were about to go into another neighborhood. Joe looked at me, looked back down at the trash, and chuckled. I almost completely regretted telling him right there and then.

“What’s funny?” I said indignantly.

“Sorry, Josh. I didn’t know what to say. It’s just that I’ve known you for so long, and I just knew that you…I can just see you doing that. So what the hell happened?” Despite his less-than-comforting words, I felt that Joe genuinely wanted to know, and I wouldn’t deprive him of information at this point.

“So there was this homeless guy. Asking me for money when I got out of the car to go to the store. He was bugging me a lot. I said no, I wouldn’t give him money. Some jerk basically comes up and tells me to give him the money, and I just kind of lost it. I punched him, he punched me, we both passed out for a while, we went to the hospital. I got out last night, I guess.”

Joe nodded. “I see.” That’s all he said. I think he already felt he overstepped his boundaries by saying that he expected this of me. Which, in my opinion, he did. But maybe I would have appreciated more than just “I see” in response. I didn’t know. This was the relationship between me and Joe, men of few words and even fewer rampant emotions. At least, ones we would openly talk about.

The next day was the weekend. Saturday, my day off. Days off were usually not a big deal because it didn’t matter to me whether I was working or not. It wasn’t like being at home was so freeing.

But that day, I decided to take my boat out on the water. It was a windy, cool but very pleasant summer day and a perfect day for sailing. I drove up to where it was parked at Capan’s Island, a mere forty-five minutes from my house. The most powerful and transformative forty-five minutes to have ever existed. Because when they were over, the blue sea laid out in front of my eyes was better than any land dwelling could ever be. That was just what I thought, what I think, what I’ll always think. No humans can survive underwater.

Sailing comes easily to me. Ever since I was a young boy, I’ve been fascinated by the way the wind could move things just the right way. How it wasn’t another person who made my boat work, just me and the forces of nature surrounding me.

I have just turned ten years old.
My father and I don’t communicate very much. It’s always cordial, but he doesn’t make an effort, and I’m only ten and don’t know how I can. The ways he shows his love for his firstborn son are limited, the number one being “presents on my birthday.” Normally, I don’t care much for presents. New clothes, new toys. Sometimes, I don’t even end up using them. “Thanks, Dad,” I always say, and give my dad a hug whether I like my presents or not.
It’s my birthday again. My dad tells me that his present is a “special trip,” to occur the next day, and says no more than that. In the morning, he takes me down to the beach in Quay, a beach town two hours from our house. We go there sometimes as a whole family, but I’ve never gone with my dad alone. I am thrilled when he asks me, though. Thrilled and shocked. Dad wants to hang out with me? Just me?

We fill the ride with my father’s classical music blaring from the speaker, the windows down and the salty beach breeze getting more and more noticeable as we near Quay. We have a cooler, two towels, and goggles for me. I will swim. He won’t. He’ll read the paper on the sand. This I know. Today is unusual already, but not unusual enough for my dad to swim.

I’m wrong. My dad doesn’t swim, but today is more unusual and magical than any other day in my life so far. As we walk onto the boardwalk, my dad walks me over to one of the lifeguards on duty. The one who’s not sitting in the chair. This lifeguard’s job is to walk up and down the beach and make sure everything’s going smoothly, collect tokens, and answer questions. When there are any. The beach is usually a pretty question-free place, lucky for him, but today, my dad and I approach him. “Hi, do you know where the sailing class for nine-to-twelve year olds is?” my dad says.

The lifeguard motions to a group of kids sitting in a circle next to the sailboats on the sand. There is a blonde-haired man with toned muscles and an athletic build standing next to them. His arms are crossed. “Head over there.” My dad nods thank you and we walk away. I’m tugging at my dad’s sleeve, begging that he tells me what is happening, but he won’t. He knows that I wouldn’t agree to sailing with other kids if I had any choice. He also knows I love sailboats.

When I was five years old, we came down here and I saw a group just like this. The big kids. On sailboats, on the water. I still remember marveling at how free they were. They can do anything. They go anywhere. I told my dad, “One day, I’m going to be big and I’m going to sail on the water and I’m going to be special.”

I don’t think my dad paid attention to me when I said I wanted to sail, to propel myself over the limitless lake. But here I am, walking up to these exact sailing lessons. The instructor’s name is Logan. The kids, I don’t remember. They’re all fine people, but the social part of the experience is and will always be lost on me. Which is fine, because what I get from it is so much more important. I’ll never forget the feeling when they finally let me sail. It is worth all the time spent explaining how it works, going over the safety procedures. Once I am on the water, it is clear I am a natural.

I still am. I spent my whole Saturday that day on the water, until it grew late and dark. I then parked my boat, which I got two years after my first sailing lesson. I sat down and watched the sky. I hadn’t seen any stars there for years, so there was nothing to look at. I drive home and go to sleep. The next day, it isn’t my day off anymore. Weeks pass without incident.

I haven’t been on the boat since then. I tell myself it’s because of time. But even I know that of all the things I’m missing, time isn’t one. I could make time.

I tell myself it’s because of winter coming. Which is true. But I’ve been making excuses to not go to the water since midsummer. It’s like I get something out of making myself miserable.

I don’t like summer either, but winter is by far the worst season. When I begin to see evergreen Christmas trees crop up in the neighborhood, when I see wreaths placed carefully on doors, that’s when I know it’s “failure season.” The season where the timeline of everything comes into picture, where I see that everyone else is moving smoothly through the maze of life. “Married.” “Kids.” “New Job.” I have never sent a Christmas card. I don’t do much on Christmas, unless Stuart asks me to celebrate with his family. He knows I don’t like to, so maybe he won’t this year.

It is finally spring. I’m sitting on the dock near my parked sailboat, feet in the warm water. The buoy calmly floats on the low tide, canoes and motorboats alike laid out on the sand behind me. The sun’s shimmer begins to dim as it sets in the west. I’m staring into the waves below, everything else sliding away from my thoughts. I hear a rustling, imagining it to be leaves from the trees on the street, and then realize that I’m wrong. It’s nothing but a white trash bag, floating on the surface of the current.

Simple

Warning: There are several moments of intense language in this narrative. If “potty-mouth” is an issue for you, simply exit the novel.

Ch 1.

Beginning of Seventh Grade

 

I glance at her. Then quickly swap my focus. For her to catch me staring at her is a risk I would not want to take. But god was she pretty. I can’t even match a word to her beauty, her personality, just…her.

She is gorgeous, obviously. Determined, powerful, deceiving. Anyone would love her positives or negatives. She’s smart, creative, funny, honest, sweet, compelling, dangerous, yes I said dangerous, tough, stubborn, independent, and a warrior. She literally was perfect, it’s like someone gave me the best Christmas present ever! But she is more than a gift. She’s a goddess. I honestly could describe her and talk about her all day.

Sure, you might say my affection for her is somewhat a cliché of normal everyday youth love, but to me, I feel like I know her more than anyone. That she is that meaningful to me. She is the most cherished book in my two-book library. That is to say she is the only book I really care for besides my own mother, which inhabits the life of the other book. But other books can be written. The library will never end. New books will come. But for now, the libraries bestseller is her.

But to add on to the youth-love cliché, she doesn’t seem the least bit attracted to me. Way to crush hope, right? So here I am, sprinting to a nonexistent finish line in a 26 mile marathon, hopelessly yearning for love and attention for a 14-year-old middleschool girl. What’s my chance in finishing the race? You’ll find out why it’s nearly impossible.

 

Ch. 2

Sixth Grade: November

 

Her name is Hailey. Like the comet. I remember clearly now when I first met her. It was in sixth grade and both of our schools were performing a play together. The play was going to be performed on the second floor in a middle auditorium. This middle school would be the school I would be going to in my future years.

The auditorium was big, yes, but the acoustics were terrible. Every sound you spoke or did created an echo. The auditorium was also quite dark and lacked color. I am sure a person like Halley would love to tear the place down and just spend hours redecorating.

During a small pre-rehearsal before we had to perform, which was held in the school gym, adjacent to the auditorium, two of our actors got into a fight.

One of my cl***mates smirked at the opposing one, “Hey, make sure to not *** up your lines like your pathetic school always does.”

“Hey, shut up man,” said the other boy, “you don’t have to downgrade us just because we’re better than you.”

He smiled. “Screw you.”

“Sorry, I don’t wanna.”

“Homo.”

“*** face!”

“Ugly fag!”

“Wow,” I thought, “quite a vocabulary for sixth graders.”

Five seconds later is when the kicking started.

“What are they doing?” I mutter.

Let me describe what happens out here in the safari. You can see the older male on top of the more infantile hyena. They constantly yap at each other, foul comments and disgusting insults. This is one strategy the modern hyena uses to infuriate its prey, causing it to waste more energy on trying to dominate the other male. Back to reality. Fists flying, spit, blood. Jesus, could they just stop fighting?! I yell in my head.

The boys were not stopping. This was so ridiculous! Over a little competition. More and more people tried to break it up, but the more they tried the worse it got. James was trying to be neutral, but he joined the fight once someone insulted his dead sister. Ouch. Elika got kicked by accident, which got her mad. I don’t wanna say what happened after that. Why aren’t there any chaperones around? I tried to ignore it and study my lines on last time.

Seven minutes. I glanced over at my “friends” who continued to clash. It was more verbal now. At least they stopped hitting each other. A lot of people were a part of it now. Guess I was the one who looked like the wimp trying to stay out of that mess.

“Well if you hadn’t said that you were better than I am, I wouldn’t have said anything to you!”

“So? You didn’t have to say those things about my mom and my school!”

“And you didn’t have to say that my sister deserved to be dead!”

“WELL DIDN’T SHE OVERDOSE ON THOSE DRUGS?!”

“SHUT UP!”

“YOU SHUT UP.”

Ugh, why do sixth graders have such an immature set of vocabulary? If they keep on yelling like that, my migraine will arrive sooner than later. Which reminds me, five minutes.

I plug my ears. I know it won’t help that much but– Hey, it was actually working! There wasn’t that much noise! Unless…

I lifted my head up from the sheets. There, like a guardian angel, Hailey was between the two quarrelling boys.

“Listen,” she said. “This is a spark for bad habits. You wanna get into being dumb***es who are always looking for fights, be my guest, but in five minutes we are about to go on stage and work together to perform a stupid play.” Four minutes. “Sure, it might not be meaningful to you, but it is to others. So stop being selfish dicks and stop fighting.”

I smiled. This girl was tough. I liked that.

Everyone sat down.

I looked at her. She seemed satisfied. One minute. I got up and began to walk over to her. 30 seconds. I got closer. 15 seconds.

“Hi, um, I just wanted to say–”

“Alright! Get ready to go on stage!” yelled our professor, appearing out of nowhere. Seriously? Out of all times, the teacher comes now?

She got up and left me standing there awkwardly. I straightened my costume and got in line with the rest of my peers.

After that, we didn’t see each other at all. I honestly forgot about her for some time. What she looked like. How she sounded. I’m guessing that we both grew. That was until I saw her during sixth grade. One second.

 

Ch 3.

Sixth Grade: January

 

Love. What an overly important word. I feel like love isn’t a good enough word for what it means.

“I’m in love,” says a person. Wow, great accomplishment. I totally understand your feelings. Why can’t the word ‘love’ be a different word? Why can’t the definition of love mean ignite? Like, “I ignite you.” No, that’s terrible. Maybe, “I am in destiny.” Yeah, see? Why can’t you switch destiny and love’s meanings? People do say that love is your destiny, so why can’t destiny be your love?

I am Hailey’s destiny. I don’t know. No, I am. Do I love her? Yes. No. Maybe. Yes. Totally. Ughhhh! Puberty is hard! Oh, uh, too much information… Sorry. Anyways. I like her, and I think that she likes me. I mean, that’s what happened in sixth grade. We were young, yes, but I think it actually meant something. I am positive it did.

 

“Hi! I’m Jake,” I said.

“Hey, I remember you!” she replies.

“Yeah! I um, really think that you are pretty!”

“Aw! That is so flattering! I think you are cute too!”

“Well do you want to go out?”

“Sure do!”

 

Flash forward 15 years. Wedding bells ring in the distance. Hah, if it were only that simple. It’s not simple. It’s hard. Deep breath. I walked over to her. She was sitting by herself with her pencil pouch by her side, a sheet of paper in her hand, filled with sketches of inanimate objects like vases.

“So, you like to draw, right?” I stare at her, she made the first move. ***, I wasn’t expecting that.

“Yeah, I do,” I responded, “But, I don’t think I’m as good as you.”

Let me tell you. Hailey Spires can draw better than Claude Monet. If you don’t know him, look it up. Honestly he is amazing, but Hailey, that is someone worth noticing.

“Thanks,” she smiles.

“You like wolves, huh?” I ask her. Her binder and other papers inside her journal is filled with drawings of animals, specifically wolves.

“Yeah, I feel like they are powerful animals, you know? Always modest, intelligent. In charge.” She looks at me. I look at her.

“You know, one time, I was in my Uncle’s backyard and I saw three wolves. A mama and her two cubs. They were beautiful. A pearl gray color, you know?”

She smiles again, wider this time. “Wow,” she looks back down at her paper.

“You know what would be cool? If we could form our own pack, just like the wolves.”

“Yeah, that would be cool!”

“We could create our own characters!” she said, taking out clean, crisp sheets of paper to begin sketching. “What do you want your name to be?” she asked me.

“Umm.” I thought. What is a cool name that will woo her with my creativity?

“Riptide,” I answered. “In Greek it translates to Anaklusmos. You can call me either or.”

She laughed, “I think I’ll just call you Rip.”

“Fine by me!” I exclaim.

This was the beginning of our friendship. I felt like we were really connecting.

 

I had many cl***es with Hailey. Every cl*** we would sit next to each other, unless the cl*** had ***igned seats. We would always try to talk. We had fun, we did. Our “pack” grew. We actually did follow that idea. We drew characters of each of our friends who joined. We created cl***es, maps, we established bases and territories, so on and so on. It was fun, we liked each other the more we hung out. Our favorite cl*** was art. We got to talk with each other, one on one. We also got to draw and paint, which is what we loved to do. I liked Hailey. I’m sure you already knew that, but I did. I just hoped she did too.

 

Sixth and seventh grade flew by. Soon we would be in the eighth grade, and boy is that where it gets interesting.

 

Ch. 4

Eighth Grade: January/March

 

I don’t know…I guess he’s cute? I mean, the first time I saw him I thought he was an utter nerd! It was probably his dad’s doings. The first day of school his dad had him dressed in uniform. But it was hilarious! He had his shirt tucked in, poindexter gl***es, tight khaki shorts, gelled down hair, and a blue lunchbox. I don’t think anyone could help from laughing. We were kids. Weird, immature kids…But instantly, after walking in, he untucked his shirt, ruffled his hair, removed his gl***es and inserted contacts, and then… Sorry I’m traIling off too much.

Anyways, he was a new person. Different. He can change. You don’t know who he can be. Some days, he would be so poetic and dreamy, some days, kind and sweet, interesting and brave. Other days, an utter jerk. Who you wish would just buzz off. Is this a good thing? Yes and no. It’s sort of a rhetorical question for me at least.

Now, you may be asking, “Well, tell us if you like him! Because he has told us what he feels about you. Go on! Spill the beans!”

Ugh, I don’t want to. I mean, it is obvious. We are both friends. He was literally the first person I talked to when I came to this school, well, first person who I didn’t really actually know already.

He was a popular boy I think… Everyone talked about how silly, smart and cool he was. I just never noticed it for myself. I guess I was shy… *** it. There I go again, trailing off. I need to stop, seriously, it is not a good way to think. Alright, enough about me and my thoughts. Let’s talk about me and my feelings

 

“Hey Hailey. How was your weekend?” Third month of school, and he’s been acting weird. Not weird, just… Nasty. I look up at him. He stares at me with a dumb look on his face. “What?” he asks. I look back down at my paper. He needs to get out of my face before I begin to kick. “Hey, I have a funny joke, wanna hear it?” he says, nudging me. Oh god, if it is another one of those perverted jokes, I swear to god I–

“Why are men like spiders?”

I stare.

“Because whenever they are on the web their hands get sticky!” he laughs, snorting.

I get up and move, close to the teachers desk. He looks at me like I’m a different person. It’s because I am. “Hailey!” he yells.

“Quiet down, Duffles!” The teacher hisses.

He glares at me, then at her. He walks over to me. Stop. I’m about to blow up, please stop just don’t say anything, please– “What is up with you?! Aren’t we friends?” he examines me, bewildered.

I take a deep breath. “Jake Duffles, get the *** away from me.” I close my eyes. I can sense that he is still there. “GET THE *** AWAY FROM ME!” I scream. Bad idea. I bet you all the kids in the cl*** were staring at me.

“Wow, is she having a breakdown?”

“***, she needs to chill.”

“What is up with her?”

Great. I hate attention. I don’t like people. Leave me alone. I storm out of the cl***. I need to vent. Now.

The lock in the stall clicks.

I sob. I hate him! He is just a pervert! He no longer is that person who is kind and nice and smart! He is just one of those people who just needs to be ignored. I don’t know! He is a bad kind of different. He is so immature. He is not attractive anymore. I liked him when he cared more. Now he just hangs out with douchebags and talks about sex.

I feel like I’m dead.

I’ve been dealing with things.

He is one of them.

I don’t love him.

He doesn’t understand.

I don’t anymore.

But I still want to.

But I don’t think he knows.

I’m like another person.

Torn between the two.

My mother is dying.

I’m dying.

From the pressure.

I can’t take it.

Who am I?

I cry some more. My face feels puffy. I wipe the tears. My head tucks in between my upright legs, perfectly comforted between the two. I sigh. I lift my head and look up at the clock. I’ve been here for an hour. It feels like minutes. I flush the toilet. I don’t know why, I didn’t even go to the bathroom. I sob one last time, just to get the last remains out.

I can’t be with him anymore. He is a distraction. He will ruin me. I can’t like him. I don’t know why. I just can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Ugh! Why does life have to be so difficult? I flush the toilet again. I flushed it for a reason. I’m flushing away something. I’m flushing his memory away.

 

Ch. 5

Eighth Grade: March

 

What is up with her? I can’t believe she’s acting this way. WHAT DID I DO TO UPSET HER?

 

Ch. 6

Eighth Grade: March

 

She didn’t talk to me for most of eighth grade. We never talked. I tried to. It didn’t work. She would always flip me off when I tried to approach her, she would never answer me, she wouldn’t look at me.

I think she hates me even more just because I’m so persistent in figuring out why she hates me. Here is a list of ideas on why I think she is upset with me:

  • I am immature, but I don’t change or realize it.
  • I am annoying, because I constantly ask why she hates me.
  • She knows I like her.
  • I have very few ideas of what the problem actually is.

One day, we are required to reenact a segment of the text we are reading. The teacher partners me up with Hailey. I grin. She shows no emotion.

“So,” I begin.

“No.” She ends the conversation.

“Okay, so you are going to act like a bitch. Oh wait, you have been this whole year,” I say.

She doesn’t raise her voice. “This is exactly the reason.” She studies her script.

“Exactly what? I didn’t do anything,” I retort.

She sighs and looks at me. “I don’t like you right now, Jacob.” Wow. She has never called me Jacob before. “So why don’t we just do the work, and leave me the *** alone.”

I look at her like she is a piece of ***. “Well, I’m feeling ***ty too.” I lean back. No response.

“My mom is in the hospital. She has appendicitis, and, she could die,” I finished. This was true. She was in the hospital except she wasn’t going to die. Hailey set her paper down. She turned her head towards me. I look at her beautiful lips, her perfect eyes, sharply figured so that you would just get lost in them…

“Listen, there are kids out there whose mothers are actually dying in a hospital. So stop being that guy, and leave me alone.” She turned her head, and stared with her perfect eyes down at her paper, lips pursed. Anger welled up inside of me. My heart raced. Why was this situation so unexplainably hard? It made no sense! It was like trying to prove the theory of evolution. I want to fix this! I want us to be normal again!

I got up. Left her alone. I approached the teacher’s desk. “Hi Ms. Henry, can I request another partner? It’s not working out so well over here.” I glance at Hailey. She pays no attention, but I know she can hear.

“Aw, what’s wrong Duffles? The love of your life ain’t doin’ so well?” she tilted her head. I swear this bitch is about to get a dent in her face.

“Just, can you give me a new partner?” I plead.

“Sure! Switch with Bless and Carlos.” She points to the two boys. Thankfully, Bless was my friend. I needed to get distracted from the train wreck I probably created. I have so many bricks on my back right now, and I can’t unload them.

 

I get home that day and I just drop my stuff and head to my room. I trudged up the stairs, my footsteps echoing up each flight. I began to think, and soon those thoughts formed into words. Those words became reality.

“Why is she doing this? She is so immature. You know, why do I even care? This is middle school. But she’s everything to me. She is my true inspiration for life. I just don’t know how to fix any of this. I don’t love anyone else like that. She is so stubborn. If she could just tell me. Please just tell me.” Those words soon became tears. Those tears became memories. Those tears became reality.

 

“Ms. Diakite?” I knock.

“Come in, honey,” she responds. I open the door and drop my books on the floor. “What seems to be the issue, Duffles?” She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Well, lay it on me.”

“I like a girl,” I say

She laughs, “Can you be more specific?”

“Someone in the eighth grade?” I reply.

“Which girl, boo?”

I mutter, “Hailey Spires.”

“Aww! That’s cute! She like you back?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

 

Intercom: Hailey Spires, please report to Ms. Diakite’s office. Hailey Spires report to Ms. Diakite’s office.

 

It’s only minutes until she arrives. Our eyes met, and she gave me a quick, “What the hell am I doing here?” look. She sat down. Next to me.

Ms. Diakite begins, “Hailey, the reason I called you into this office was because Mr. Duffles here, feels like there is a disruption in your relationship. Is that correct?”

Hailey looks at me. “Yes,” she says.

Wow. She answered truthfully. At least I think that answer is the truth.

“Did you know that Mr. Duffles here, likes you?” Ms. Diakite asks.

Hailey blushes. Jake: 1, Hailey: 0

“No,” she answers. I look at her, she looks at me.

“Well he is telling me that y’all two haven’t been very friendly with each other lately, now have y’all?” Ms. Diakite continues.

“No.”

“Would you care to tell me why?” questions Ms. Diakite.

I look at her. She looks at me, staring me directly in the eye and says, “It’s a long story.”

“Okay,” Ms. Diakite waves her hand in the air, hoping Hailey would’ve told her more, “Well, I know middle school is a hard time and everything, but, you gotta learn to make peace with one another, instead of…letting the war go on.”

That was a weird analogy, but also very correct.

Hailey nods. I do too.

“Alright,” Ms. Diakite concludes, “if you two promise me that you will make amends with each other, I’ll let y’all two go. Okay?”

I turn towards Hailey, “Sorry for whatever I did.”

She looks at me with pure disgust. “We’ll talk later,” she mouths.

“I’m sorry too,” she adds.

“Alrighty then!” Ms. Diakite says. “Just keep on being friendly with each other, and the problem will be solved! You are dismissed.”

Hailey is the first to leave.

I soon follow.

 

Ch. 7

Eighth Grade: April

 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even realize what he has done. I cannot believe him. I need to talk to him. He’s just a butthurt brat. I have no more feelings. This is the last time.

I see him in the hallway. I approach him. He doesn’t notice me. “Hey,” I say sternly.

“Oh! Hey Hailey! You scared me!” He lets out a little laugh.

“Enough ***,” I slice him down. All of a sudden, it seems like he is broken. He realizes nothing is fixed. He realizes that we are still in the same situation.

“Look, I cannot believe that you called me in there. You don’t even know the reason why we are like this!” I roll my eyes.

“Y-yeah I do,” he stutters.

“What is it then?” I press forward.

“I have been acting like a pervert?” he answers, unsure.

“See? You don’t even really know the true reason.” I fold my arms. Does he have amnesia? Did he get hit in the head? Why doesn’t he remember?

“Hailey, I don’t understand…” He trails off.

“That’s right,” I retort, “you don’t understand.”

He looks down at the ground. Are those…tears?

I still have no sympathy.

“Do you want to know why I’m upset with you?” I raise my tone.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

“The video.”

 

Ch. 8

Eighth Grade: May

 

***. I completely forgot about the video. Ohmygosh I am so stupid.

 

Ch. 9

Eighth Grade: Memories

Sometime in February, Hailey was hosting a sleepover/party for her belated birthday. This was when Hailey and I were still really good friends. Me among many of my friends were invited. Us being boys were only allowed to stay at her house until dinnertime. There were about seven people there. Hailey, Xian, Jaelen, Sifan, Maina, Nimai and me. We arrived at Hailey’s house around 4:30 and knocked on the door. Barks and shuffles came from within the small cosy cottage, and we were soon greeted by a very cheerful dog, and a very annoyed brother. “Oh, hey Hailey,” said Damian, her brother. He stepped aside, unlocked the door and let us in. Immediately, I felt sharp claws and a wet tongue drag across my face. I screamed. Everyone laughed. “Reesy!” Hailey purred. The peanut butter and chocolate colored dog came bounding towards her with full determination to give her a big wet kiss. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” Hailey coaxed, patting the dog and squeezing it which great intensity. I smiled. I love it when owners and dogs bond together. It’s just a feeling of joy, you know? We sat down and instantly turned on the T.V. and started to chat. It’s something kids do nowadays. They multitask, whether it is watching television and having a conversation at the same time, or listening to music while studying. So, yeah. Anyways, we were just talking and…”I’m going to go upstairs and change into my jammies. Anyone care to join me? Sorry let me rephrase that, any girls want to join me?” Hailey proposed. “Sure!” Sifan bounced up and grabbed her change of clothes. Xian, Mina and Jalen followed Hailey and Sifan upstairs. I was left with Nimay, sitting awkwardly with each other. “Hey Duffles, I have an idea!” Nimay leaned forward. “Yeah what is it?” I said while playing with my phone. “Well, it’s more of a dare.”

I creep up the stairs, with Mina’s phone in my right hand. I can’t help from laughing. This will be a hilarious prank! Fifth step, sixth step, seventh step, eighth step.

I walk slowly up to their door, hearing their laughter on the other side. I begin to record. The only footage it was picking up was the door and the muffled sound of their conversation. I step close. *CREAK*! “Crap!” I saw as the floorboard releases its moan. That was close. I step closer to the door. I slip the phone underneath the door crack. I look at the screen and all I see is the ceiling. All of a sudden I hear footsteps. Coming towards the door. I panic. I run. All I hear behind me are the girls voices.

“Oh my god! Don’t say that!”

“I am so excited for tonight!”

“Do you like my pjs?”

Good. They didn’t catch me. But then the thought raced through my head. What the hell did I just do? Did I just eavesdrop and try to film my friends… While they were changing?! What was I thinking? What if they find out! They will totally get the wrong idea. I wasn’t thinking at all. No thoughts were going through my head at the time. And I had no idea what the consequences would be.

I left early that day, for two reasons. One it was my brother’s birthday party and I had to get home and change to go out to dinner. Second was guilt, but it really wasn’t.

 

Ch. 10

Eighth Grade: May

 

He’s online trying to text me. I don’t want to text him. What he did was gross. I can’t believe he never thought that we would be offended by it. He keeps on texting. I’m so irritated I just decide to reply.

Me: What.

Him: Hi, look I’m sorry about that video. I was stupid and I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid and I’m here to apologize. But you need to learn to get over this. You have to forgive.

Me: (pause five seconds) How dare you.

Him: What?

Me: Do you realize what you have done? You invaded our privacy. There was a risk of taping us naked. And now you apologize, only four months after the incident, and then you bring it back to yourself by saying that I should forgive you and that I need to get over this. Well guess what Jacob Duffles. *** YOU. *** you because you have no right to be forgiven and no right to have done what you did. We wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t have pulled that maneuver.

Him: No, you are causing this because you won’t learn to move one and forget stupid crap like this. Guys do this all the time. I’m growing up and you will too if you learn to accept people’s apologies. No one will like you if you don’t learn to do this.

Me: Just look over what you just texted me and think of the bull*** you just wrote to me.

Him: I didn’t do anything! You are so selfish! You just need to understand how to move on with life! I can’t believe you are doing this. I said I am sorry so you need to forgive me.

HAILEY SPIRES HAS LOGGED OFF.

 

Ch. 11

Eighth Grade: May

I see her outside of school. “Hailey!” I yell. She turns around and walks in the opposite direction.

“Look, I’m sorry for saying that stupid stuff–” I begin.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she says her back facing me.

“I like you Hailey, I don’t want to end it this way.” I solemnly reach out for her shoulder to turn her around.

“Don’t touch me! I can’t like someone who lies! Who forgets! I can’t trust you!” she yells. I meet her eyes. I hope she sees how sorry I am.

“Hailey–”

“Leave me alone.”

She runs away from me. I can’t reach her.

 

Ch. 12

Eighth Grade: June

 

I glance at the casket. I wish she would have just never forgiven me. I wish I never talked to her. I wish I never met her. Then she would have crossed the street. She would have not been caught up in another reality. She would have focused on something else! She shouldn’t care about me that much! She cares about me too much! She should have looked both ways. She should have looked one way. Not at me but at the road. But she was looking the wrong way. She was looking at me.

 

The Written Sea

He walked with a heavy step through the grove of trees. Tall and stately, Alistair felt small beneath their looming branches. It was 9:57 and a Saturday, which meant the rain was due any second. Alistair looked up and his eyes were met with an ominous sky. He reached into his bag and pulled out a black umbrella, which he unfurled only a second before the ghostlike clouds let loose a torrent storm.

By ten o’ clock, Alistair had quickly woven his way through the small town and arrived at the post office. He stood underneath the red awning, his suit soaked through with the rain, and shook his head like a dog, attempting to rid himself of the water. He gazed out upon the abandoned street, pausing to look at the dark storefronts and the empty tables of the cafe. It was too early for most to be out and the rain had scared away the rest. As Alistair turned back towards the door, he saw the figure of a young woman darting behind a car, her turquoise dress flashing like scales. The rain has tricked you once again, he thought, and slicked back his dark brown hair. He swung open the door of the post office, the bells singing his arrival.

Alistair strode in and watched Bertha’s head snap up, like a dog who smelled fresh meat. She gave him a huge smile and laid her long red nails on her desk.

“Hello, Alistair.” She twirled a large, orange ringlet around one of her fingers and her smile somehow grew.

Alistair approached the desk nervously and gave Bertha a weak smile in return. “Good morning, Bertha.”

The post office was small and brightly lit, a pleasant little place, but Alistair couldn’t help but detest this Saturday morning routine. This was mostly due to Bertha and her intrusive nature.

“Now, what can I do for you today?” she said, batting her huge, green eyes, and leaning towards him. She looked as if she was about to devour him, a feat Alistair wouldn’t put past her.

“Just wondering if you’ve received my letter yet,” Alistair said shyly.

Bertha’s smile dissolved, a rather ugly expression left in its place. She stood up, curling her lip, and turned away from Alistair to examine the many tiny boxes that lined the back wall of the post office.

She turned around again and plopped back into her desk chair. “Nope, nothing. Again.”

Alistair peered behind her. “Doesn’t look like you checked too carefully, though. Perhaps another try?” he said hopefully.

Bertha gave him a murderous expression. She stood up, her long skirt unfurling like the wings of a fury. “Alistair. You have come in here every Saturday and every Saturday, I hope you have come to finally ask me out.”

Alistair weakly pointed behind Bertha. “My- my letter,” he stuttered, but Bertha ignored him.

“But no. You come every Saturday just to see if your letter has finally come from France, and every Saturday, I tell you, no!”

Alistair sighed and looked down at his palms.

“She hasn’t written to you, Alistair! She was lost at sea, remember? There is no letter coming!” Bertha started to pace back and forth behind the mail counter, papers fluttering wherever she stepped. “You are twenty five and you can’t wait for her forever!” She turned back to face him, her eyes flashing. “You must let her go, Alistair!”

Bertha sat down again, let out a long sigh, and began sorting through a box of letters. The door swung open, and in hobbled a rain-soaked Mr. Peterson.

“What’s all this racket I’m hearing?” he said, furrowing his brow and combing his fingers through his large mustache. He walked past Alistair and joined Bertha behind the desk. She stood, flustered, and Alistair was struck with amusement at the sight of a short and stout Mr. Peterson staring up at Bertha with a vexed expression. “Why are you yelling at a customer, Bertha?”

Bertha looked down at the floor with an insolent countenance. “Sorry, father,” she muttered.

Mr. Peterson shook his head. “Alistair, we are so sorry for this little inconvenience.”

Alistair smiled and shook his head. “No trouble at all. I suppose she’s right.”

Bertha turned to her father with a victorious smile. “See?” she shrieked. “I was just trying to help!”

Alistair noticed he had been standing awkwardly in the same spot for almost ten minutes and quietly began to exit.

“Bertha!” yelled Mr. Peterson. “You try to help everyone that comes in here! And most don’t find it quite as helpful!”

Alistair swung the door closed behind him, muffling Bertha’s cries of protest. The rain had stopped and the sky had morphed into a light gray. As Alistair walked down the street, he saw shopkeepers beginning to open up, and mothers pushing babies in strollers. Children chased each other around on the sidewalk and men sat at cafe tables, opening the front pages of their newspapers leisurely. Their days have just began, Alistair thought to himself, and mine have already ended.

Alistair strolled around aimlessly, before realising he had gone in a complete circle. The town of Whittlesbury was a small one, impossible to get lost in. But that meant it was also impossible to find anything new, and Alistair found that he was bored and without a destination.

“Alistair!” Alistair whirled around to see Timothy running at him. “Long time, no see,” he said with a grin, and engulfed Alistair in a hug.

“Hello, Timothy,” said Alistair, extracting himself from the embrace carefully, then smiling back at Timothy. “I wonder, do you have any room for a man in search of some breakfast?”

“Do I?” said Timothy, gesturing at his empty restaurant. “Hope you’re in the mood for pizza!” he called over his shoulder, as he ran back into the small restaurant.

Alistair grimaced and sat down at one of the red outdoor tables. Tim’s Pizza was usually deserted, as no one in town seemed to like Italian food. However, this had never discouraged Timothy, who was always dreaming up new kinds of pizza.

Alistair watched Timothy prepare his meal, using his mermaid shaped tap to fill a glass of beer. Fifteen minutes later, he ran out with a huge tray. “I hope you’ll enjoy my new delicacy, chicken barbecue pizza!” Alistair looked at the giant pizza, and highly doubted he would. Timothy pulled out the chair across from Alistair and sat down. “So, how’s Mr. Alistair?”

“Fine, thank you very much.” Alistair took a small slice of chicken barbecue pizza and cautiously took a bite. It was extremely spicy, and Alistair quickly took a gulp of his water, hoping he didn’t seem rude.

But Timothy appeared not to have noticed. “Well, I found a rather nice girl,” said Timothy looking at Alistair cautiously.

“I’m very happy for you,” said Alistair distractedly, attempting, in vain, to cut his slice with his dull butter knife.

“Well, she’s not for me,” said Timothy carefully. “She’s for you, old buddy.”

Alistair looked up at Timothy, his silverware clattering onto his plate. “Timothy.”

Timothy ran his hands through his black hair warily. “I thought it was a nice idea, Alistair. You haven’t been the same since the boat crash, and I just thought it might be a nice idea-”

“Please leave me alone,” said Alistair, looking morosely down at his breakfast.

“I’m sorry, Alistair, I just thought-”

“Please go.” Timothy got up quietly and walked back into Tim’s Pizza. Alistair got up, left some money on the small table, and walked away. As he crossed the street, he couldn’t help but regret the entire encounter.

Alistair shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, his head bent over in thought as he made his back to his home. As he walked through the grove for the second time that day, he felt truly lost. The trees seemed to reach for him and he walked cautiously, carefully avoiding the skeletal branches.

Alistair’s house was located in a secluded clearing only minutes from the center of Whittlesbury. It was small and white, and constantly being pounded by the rain. As he climbed up the rickety steps that led to his chipped, red front door, he considered the thought that his little cottage may have become a little worse for wear. He turned the key in the rusty lock, and threw open the door.

The inside of the cottage was no better than the outside. As he walked to the kitchen, Alistair remembered the days when his house had to be spotless. But as he studied his empty refrigerator and his kitchen table, which was covered in newspaper clippings, he realized this was an idea of the old Alistair. He grabbed a box of cereal from the shelf and made his way to his study.

“Never, ever comin’ home again,” crooned a woman’s voice from the living room. “Because it’s filled with you.”

Alistair always left the radio on, but he didn’t ever listen to the songs. As he sat down in his large, leather chair, he remembered the days when every song that played the radio was happy. These days, they all seemed so sad.

“Okay, Alistair,” he said, as a ways of encouragement. “Let’s get this done.” He sifted through a large pile of papers that sat haphazardly on his cluttered desk. He was co-editor of the Whittlesbury Times, but he found no joy in the articles sent to his house. For the third time that month, Alistair quickly picked a few articles to be published, solely based on their titles. He slid them into an envelope and leaned back in his chair.

“Someone used to care,” sang a man soulfully. “Nobody cares anymore.”

His office was covered in photographs, some in frames, others in stacks on his bookcase, on his desk, and all over his tapestry-like rug. Alistair loved to take photographs, until about a year ago, when he smashed  his camera to bits on his asphalt driveway. But he couldn’t bear to get rid of all of his pictures.

His older photographs were of the ocean, mostly. When he had first moved to Whittlesbury, Alistair would go out sailing everyday, taking pictures of the sea, but he quickly found out that this couldn’t make you any money. He had been forced to also take pictures of families around town to retain a steady income.

About a year after this, the pictures began to change. No longer did they depict the ocean from Alistair’s boat. Instead, they portrayed a woman. With short auburn hair and turquoise eyes, she seemed to glow, even while being photographed in the pouring rain. Most of the pictures were of her, picnicking in a long yellow dress, or covered in paint, focused on a colorful canvas. Alistair still had some of her paintings, collecting dust in his attic. Alistair loved all of his pictures, especially the one in which she stuck her head in a large cutout of a mermaid at the town fair.

Alistair was only in one photograph. It was framed on his desk, portraying both of them. She wore a long white gown, with her hair in loose curls. Alistair wore a white suit.

The sky had turned to a calm gray by the time Alistair threw open the heavy curtains. It was about three in the afternoon and the sun peeked out warily behind wispy clouds. Alistair couldn’t hear the melodies wafting from the radio anymore, the sweet songs morphing into a dull roar. As he sorted through the piles of photographs, sitting on the hardwood floor, he had the distinct feeling that one picture was missing. The sky began to darken as Alistair looked for the missing photograph among the thousands spread across his study. Finding a large, sealed cardboard box, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his swiss army knife, hoping that maybe he had found the location of the photograph. He pulled out his wallet hurriedly, taking out his money and various papers in his haste. But while searching for the blade, he found his photograph.

Stuffed in the back pocket of his wallet, beginning to fade with time, it was Alistair’s last photograph. A girl stood in a green, spotted bathing suit, watching the sea from the deck of Alistair’s boat. On the back was written “Honeymoon to France, 1958.” It had been a sunny day in the middle of June, about a year ago. Alistair could hear crashing of waves and laughter, smell the sea salt and the suntan lotion. He watched as the boat collided with a group of large, craggy rocks. He flailed helplessly in the water, holding his photograph above the frenzied waters. As he searched for a woman, all he could see was the white foam collecting above the water and the flash of a turquoise tail.

When the rescue boat pulled him out of the freezing waves, Alistair stood shivering on the deck, his photograph clutched in his left hand.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said a man in a red jacket. “We were unable to find your wife.”

 

Later, Alistair walked alone at the docks. He waded through the waves, his loafers in one hand. The smell of sea salt surrounded him, as did the immenseness of the great ocean. He closed his eyes, envisioning the small steamer making its way through the vast waters. In his mind’s eye, he saw the boat sink into the green-blue. He remembered an old story about mermaids who made their homes in sunken ships on the ocean floor. Alistair watched the sunset turn the ripples to golden rings, and hoped that some lost things could be found again.

The Hospital

There are Always two Sides to a Story

 

The hospital rooms had a strong scent of something similar to rotten eggs and the white beds were now stained red. Instead of separate rooms, blue-white curtains hung in an attempt for people not to see or hear each other, however everything could be heard. The tiled floor, not cleaned in around months, now had moss growing in the cracks. The hospital was some sort of a hell hole.

On the last floor of the hospital, floor six, all the yellow light bulbs had burned out years ago. The darkness made it an ideal living space for many bats. When it was late at night you could hear bats flying and making noises. In the hospital warehouse rats lay dead after eating different medicine not made for them. If the hospital weren’t a hospital, it could have been a zoo instead.

***

It all began 20 years ago, when an outbreak began. The sickness Julgaray 323, otherwise known as Jul, had spread over the entire city of  Lodsonville  and had affected almost every citizen imaginable. The small hospital just wasn’t enough to take care of the more than a thousand patients. In a matter of days everyone began opening houses and schools for aid, until the present day the school remained a hospital, the only one left.

After the year which killed hundreds, survivors left the hospital and moved as far as possible from the city with fear that the disease would come back for revenge. From old Mrs. Mcclusky to young John, everyone fled to different cities around the world looking for peace, except for one special woman. Her name? Josephine. Josephine Moriarty. Age 75.

As new people started coming into the town, Christmas changed, sports tournaments changed, everything changed except for Mrs. Moriarty. Since the day she got ill she stopped talking or moving, she seemed like some sort of creepy old statue. Sitting by the hospital window all day was her hobby, and it creeped most nurses out, therefore no one ever entered her room. She was the only reason the hospital hadn’t closed years ago like it was meant to. The rules stated: As long as there is a patient in the hospital, it may not be shut down.

If you looked at the hospital from the outside, it seemed abandoned, a big piece of concrete, just there, for no use whatsoever. It might have sounded rude, but the citizens of the town could not wait for Mrs. Moriarty’s death so that the building could be demolished and remain as part of the city’s past. Everyone was too scared to enter or even touch her; no one knew anything about her or about her past. There was something so mysterious about her, but no one was ever able to discover it.

All that the citizens wanted was to know what had kept a woman locked up for so many years how could she be living a life that was so empty? How did she spend night and day sitting by the window? No love, no laughs, no nothing, but she was still there every single day. It was like some  mystery no detective could ever solve, or a disease no doctor could ever cure.

 

The cabinet that once held all the patients’ documents now was rusty and falling apart, barely holding itself together. As it was being opened you could hear loud creaks and cracks, as if it were haunted or something. There were no papers in the drawers except one, Mrs. Moriarty’s,  but her folder was basically empty, unusual for hospital files. As if she never even got sick. It was as if she had bribed her way into the hospital with no actual reason to be there. Everything about her was so strange. What could have kept her here after all these years?

***

When your dad was the mayor of Lodsonville it was predictable that your house was more like a mansion. 12 bedrooms, 10 bathrooms, 3 kitchens, 4 living areas, 2 pools, 3 jacuzzis, that sort of thing. Anyone that rich was obviously living a fantastic life that everyone envied.

As Karlie made her way up the Starbucks line she kept thinking of what drink to get: Cool Lime Starbucks Refresher, Caramel Ribbon Crunch Frappuccino, Cinnamon Dolce Latte, Iced Caffè Mocha. The pick of the drink seemed like the hardest decision that no servant or butler took for her. It was the only time she really got to think for herself.

“I want a Golden Ginger Ale Fizzio,” said Karlie.

“A Fizzio?” replied the barista.

“Yes, a Fizzio.”

There were so many options in Starbucks, so many different types that would look so good in her Instagram feed, however Karlie chose otherwise.

“Why a different pick today?” asked Julia, her main maid.

At first, Karlie wanted to answer honestly. I hate that everything I do has to build a better image of myself. Yes, I may have long golden curls and my eyes may be water blue; yes, I may be tall and my body may be slim; yet I am just another girl in this world who likes guys and wants a normal life. I picked a different drink because maybe that will tell you that I don’t want to be the same as always, I want to be different!

“I just wanted to change it up,” she said instead.

***

Every night it was the same routine, she took off her Dior mascara, her Coco Chanel lipstick, and her Naked palette eyeshadow. Behind the flawless smile, eyes, and skin, lay a sad and lonely face. Karlie represented the quote: “Stressed, depressed, but well dressed.” She was able to hide herself in her Barbie-like figure, making everyone dream of having her life, while the truth was, that she was one of those that most suffered. Her life was hardly close to perfect. Her dad basically didn’t even know her name, and her mom was young and didn’t care about raising a child. The closest thing Karlie had to family was Julia, her maid.

***

Captain of the football team, 34 girlfriends, and an apartment of his own, what else could a teen boy ask for? Inside all the great things there was a feeling of emptiness as if there were a hole through his heart. It was the feeling of having so much that now it just felt like so little. Having your own chant might have been great, but when you knew that you didn’t have any real friends what you least wanted was cheerleaders screaming your name. The only thing that gave meaning to his life was to continue football, to continue kicking the ball, to continue running. Maybe later on his life would get better. Sports was the reason to continue trying.

***

“Party at my place tonight, bruh. You up for it?” Brad asked.

“Yeh, dude, I’d love that!” Derek responded. You could tell by his tone that the last thing he wanted was another party. He was tired, all he wanted was to be a nobody. He wanted to be the last person that people would ask advice from. He wanted to be the last person to be invited to a party. He wanted people to understand that he needed privacy. Maybe if he were a loser he would not have the stalkers or the lovers. He would have himself, and that was the best anyone could get.

 

***

The first thing you think about when you hear the name Hunter is a kid who loves riding ATVs and is some kind of a wild child. Hunter Rodgers was exactly that type of kid, coming back at 11 at night after riding around in the mud and basically risking his life everyday. Everytime he arrived he was happier than ever, as if rolling around in the mud and driving full speed was the only thing that actually made him happy.

***

“Well, you’re home late,” Mr. Rodgers remarked.

“I was out with Jerry. You know, that kid from school.” Hunter tried to hide the truth. He had been out the entire day alone. The company of others did not make him feel warm on the inside instead it made him feel pressured. Riding at night by the light of the moon and the company of the stars was the best he could get. The #1 best would have been to move to Mars, but that wasn’t a possibility, at least not for now. People were not his type; friends were what he less wished for; sometimes he didn’t even want to have a mom and dad who talked to him. Hunter knew that some things he could not get rid of and they would stand by him for most of his life. For that reason he accepted his dad’s love for him and tried to please him as much as possible.

He appreciated the hours that he was out alone because when he got home the last thing he expected to do was to be alone. Dad would always ask about the day and Mom would go to Hunter’s room to cover him up and give him a goodnight kiss, as if he were still a baby. All Hunter thought about was the next day, when he would go back out to the woods and ride, ride with no directions, freely.  “Vroom” the ATV would go, showing that it was a new day and a new adventure for Hunter.

***

Simon’s room was full of all sorts of things. On the right side there were two desks. On it there was a laptop and by its side an HP desktop. If you were to log into the computers, a lot of video games would be open and, of course, a lot of hacking. On the other side of his room there were stacks of board games. On his bedside table lay his glasses.

Simon had always loved staying on the computer all day, however sometimes he needed friends. It was great, his geeky friends loved playing board games and hanging out with Simon. Yes, Simon loved who he was, but sometimes he wanted other people to like him. Why would girls not be his friend? He didn’t want to be a loser. He wanted people in his grade to at least know his name. He didn’t want to be a nobody.

***

The group was very exclusive and secretive. Their location changed every week. No one could know that four teens with totally different backgrounds and lifestyles were meeting up to discuss their “terrible” lives.

It had all began with Karlie. She noticed that she could not face her life alone and that maybe she needed others’ help if she wanted to beat her feelings. One by one they began “joining,” without even knowing what this group was going to do or even if it was going to help them personally, yet it was worth a try.

The first meetings began as a way to “meet” each other, since after all they had no clue who each person was. As the group continued there was this sort of connection, like an out of this world connection, that just brought them all together and actually allowed them to have fun. Since everyone was so unique in their own way, they never got tired of each other. As the meeting progressed their bond got stronger they knew when one person was feeling down or when the other was very excited. It was as if God had put them in this world so that one day they could meet.

Now, the meetings were more for having fun and playing around, but the day Karlie brought out the newspaper that she had found in her dad’s office, everything changed. How was it possible that the town was planning on closing down the hospital? The hospital that held the town’s past. Obviously, the kids did not know what hid in the hospital walls. For the group, the closing of the hospital meant more than just the destruction of an old building, it meant that their squad’s past would be disappearing, since their first and most important meeting was held in the hospital’s garden/jungle.
Their first thought was that they would all help stop the demolishment of the building, but quickly they noticed that four kids would get nothing out of it. The only thing left to do was to enjoy the days that were still left with the building. The plan was simple, each kid would pretend they were staying for a weekend at a school friend’s home, because their parents couldn’t know about the secret friends, and they would all together spend a weekend sleeping inside hospital grounds.

***

The four of them had their backpacks ready, they knew it was not going to be the normal sleepover. There would be no food, no beds, no showers–the kids would not have their basic needs fulfilled if they did not take action. Each individual took their own sleeping bag and a few snacks that could keep their stomachs somewhat full.

That night they all met up, Karlie, Derek, Hunter, and Simon ran toward the town dumpster where they would then all head to the hospital together.

 

The fence that surrounded the hospital garden was old and had various holes throughout it. The rust had made the chain link fence weak and easy to move and shape, therefore the kids went ahead and sneaked in through it. Hunter got stuck and ripped a hole in his shirt, but the kids were so happy to be all together that they just laughed. It had only been two months since the last time that they had been there, yet everything seemed so much older. It made sense why the town wanted to throw it down.

The glass doors were open, so they ran through the entrance and made their way up the stairs. They knew that the elevator was not safe to use. Past the first floor, boring, second floor, dirty, third floor, useless, fourth floor, jackpot. Unlike the other floors, the fourth floor was different, it looked like someone had actually taken the time to clean or try to keep it “alive.” The kids knew that no one had been there for years. No one came to do the cleaning. It was empty wasn’t it?

Simon proposed the idea of checking all the rooms to make sure that there was nothing spooky or scary that they did not know about. Room 401, first room on the right, nothing, just a sort of bed and a pillow, no stains. The room across from it was almost a replica except that on the table there was a knife–maybe for surgeries, maybe for cooking. The kids got it and decided that it would be a good idea to have some sort of protection; any wild animal could just walk through the door and attack them.

After a long school day they were all too tired to investigate and play around the halls. They decided it would be better to have a good night’s sleep and begin the adventures the following morning.

***

As the sun began to shine, around 7 a.m., the kids changed into their clothes for the day and put their sneakers on. They were ready for whatever was to come. One behind the other, they went down the stairs, as if they were spies, until they arrived to the boring floor: floor one. The first thing they saw was that all the curtains were open except one; it had been closed. They walked through the east corridor until they arrived to the closed curtain.

They stood there, around 30 minutes, just staring in awe. The fact that something could be hiding behind the curtains scared them. Not even one of them was able to build the courage to open up the cloth. The four of them agreed that if they all held the dirty blue hanging piece they could push it open. 1, 2, 3, it was open.

 

The first thing they saw was that it was the only area that had a private window. The view might not have been the best in the city, however there was some sort of beauty outside the window, some plants and a few buildings, nothing too much. On the far left of the room there was a vase with some flowers. They were new, watered. Someone had been taking care of them. Next to it was a small 4-by-4 picture frame holding an image of a woman with a small girl. The woman must have been around 34 and the daughter 13. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothing. This was a picture from the past, obviously not Instagram worthy. The room was small. In the middle lay a hospital bed with sheets, covers, and a pillow. Near the window was a rocking chair and on top of the chair cushion there was a pair of red reading glasses. Everything in the room was pretty basic. They stepped in to take a better look. The walls had been recently painted white, and the tiled floor sparkled. Hidden in the drawer of the table nearby was a knife.

The blade had been whetted just a while ago. The hilt was washed; perhaps there had been blood on it. The knife matched the one the kids had taken from the fourth floor hours earlier.

“That’s the knife we stole. What is it doing down here?” asked Karlie.

“Don’t be silly. It probably just looks like the one we have. I bet you if we go upstairs our knife will be in the exact same spot where we left it!” exclaimed Hunter.

“Why don’t we go up there and check?” questioned Simon.

“I think that’s the best idea,” concluded Derek nervously.

The four of them made their way up the stairs, scared that the knife would not be where they had left it. Their feet moved so that they could get all the way up, however they were stiff, stuck in one place. The last thing they wanted to see was the knife missing. After a few minutes going up the stairs, a time that felt like forever, the kids went to check.

It wasn’t inside Hunter’s backpack. It wasn’t under Karlie’s dress. It wasn’t on top of Derek’s football. Nor was it beside Simon’s board game. The weapon had “disappeared” and the only possible answer was that it was downstairs. They made their way back down to take their knife back.

***

The room had a new visitor. Rocking in the chair was a woman. Her hair was long, like Rapunzel’s. Each strand was black, with a few white ones mixed in, like stars against the night sky. She was wearing a red skirt that went to the floor and a white long-sleeve shirt, even though it was full-on summer. Looking from the back, the woman could be any age: 30, 40, or even 90. The kids were confused as to how a woman had appeared out of nowhere. They backed out of the room so they could talk.

“Who is she and what is she doing?” exclaimed Karlie.

“We know just as much as you do. No need to be scared,” replied Simon.

“I wonder if the citizens know this, if our parents know this,” continued Hunter.

“I have a feeling that they have been keeping it a secret from us,” said Derek.

“I’m frightened, but we need to get to know her if we want to learn something about her,” Karlie uttered.

They walked back into the room, scared but with each other’s company. As they made their way up to the rocking chair. They shivered. No one knew what to say or how to act. It was a new situation.

“Heee-llo-oo,” Simon murmured. He got no response. “Hello-o.” His voice got stronger. Still no response. “Hello.” Solid voice. Nothing.

Simon had gained courage. He was now ready to tap her on the shoulder.  As he was lowering his hand all his bravery was gone, he couldn’t do it. That was when the three friends went near him and stood by his side. They knew that they would help him bring his confidence back.

Simon tapped her once, then twice, then thrice. She didn’t move an inch. Was she a rock statue? Impossible, she hadn’t been there when they had gone earlier. They decided it was better to give her some time. Maybe the next day she would be willing to talk to them.

As they made their way upstairs, it was silent. No one said a word. Karlie, Derek, Simon, and Hunter lay in their sleeping bags. One by one, they went falling asleep, except Karlie. Karlie was still stuck in the past. She couldn’t stop thinking about the event that had occurred hours before. Why had this woman simply ignored them? She was not satisfied with the answer, “I don’t know.” Everyone was asleep; perfect chance for Karlie to go downstairs and find out the real truth.

The woman sat in the same spot. Rocking. Not asleep. Karlie was frightened by the mystery but she couldn’t handle not knowing what was behind it.

“Hi,” Karlie mumbled. She assumed that her voice was too soft. “Hi.”

“Linda?!” Mrs. Moriarty turned around.

“No, Karlie.”

“I knew that the hospital had faked your death. I am so glad I can finally say I have a daughter.”

What did she mean by daughter? Something was wrong with Mrs. Moriarty. What such thing could have left her that way. Karlie looked confused. “What are you saying? I am not your daughter.”

“Linda, let me tell you a story. Sit down, please. Years ago I was pregnant. No, not in this hospital, in the other town’s hospital. I gave birth the day of the outbreak. The hospital was such a mess that they simply confused my daughter, Linda, you, and took you/her to the school, which we are in at this very moment.”

“I’m very sorry to interrupt, yet I need to tell you that I am not your daughter.”

Mrs. Moriarty simply ignored Karlie and continued. “After my pain had gone away I asked to get a transfer. When I arrived here, I was delighted. The hospital was beautiful. Clean and in order. I waited on my hospital bed, the one you are sitting on, until the first doctor came in. My smile turned into a frown. I was told that she/you had passed to a better place, but I knew that it had not been a better place.”

“What are you trying to get at?”

“In my heart I always knew my daughter had not died, that one day she would come back to me.”

“You have been mistaken. My mom is Jasmine Lush. I’m not Linda. You’re just plain old crazy. I’m leaving.”

“Lush?!”

Karlie was shocked with the question. Why did this woman care that she was Lush? She left without answering.

***

Karlie ran up the stairs, trying not to make any noise. Nothing could go perfectly as planned. She tripped and made a loud bang. The boys woke up, terrified.

“What is that?!” Hunter exclaimed

“Karlie!!!! Where are you?” Derek shouted.

“Oww. I just fell, not much,” Karlie explained.

“Are you okay? You better be,” Hunter stated.

Simon finally woke up. “What were you doing at”–he checks his watch–“3 a.m?”

“I was just ummm…”

“Just tell us already!” Derek yelled.

“Please don’t shout. I was just in the bathroom.” Karlie smiled

“Stop lying, I know it’s not true.” Derek rolled his eyes. “I will leave it for now, but tomorrow in the morning I want to know.” He was too tired to think at that moment.

Karlie felt relieved. She would have time to think of a new excuse. Thoughts possessed her, they did not want her to sleep. Karlie thought, I have a mom don’t I? Why is this creepy woman saying that I am her daughter? Should I tell the guys? Do I talk to her again? Her brain was full of questions. After a long while she fell asleep, scared.

“What’s wrong with her?” questioned Derek.

“She seems nervous.” Hunter touched her. “Wow, she’s sweaty. I wonder why she is so nervous.”

“Ahh!!!” Karlie woke up. Her heart was jumping as she breathed heavily.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked.

Her head was telling her to keep it a secret, but her heart was insisting on telling her friends the truth. She spilled it all out. “Last night I went to talk to Mrs. Moriarty. She thinks I’m her daughter. That’s the only reason she answered me.”

“Her daughter?” Simon looked confused.

“Yeh! When I told her my last name, she reacted. I have this weird feeling that she knows me.”

“I think we need to figure this out.” Hunter rolled his eyes.

“No. I am not going down there. Never,” Karlie replied.

“We will be there with you this time.” Derek put his hand on her shoulder.

They had no time to lose. It was already Sunday and soon they would have to leave. The guys forced her downstairs, pulling her by the arms until they arrived to the room.

“Mrs. Moriarty, I am back.”  Karlie stood still. She wanted nothing from this woman.

“Oh, great. I really needed to end what I started yesterday.” She seemed to be excited that Karlie was back.

“Actually, I just came to tell you that I don’t want to be involved in any of your drama. I am not your daughter, it ends here.”

“Sweetie, don’t leave. Yes, certainly you are not Linda. I am sorry that I had to involve you in all that drama.” Mrs. Moriarty seemed to be sorry that she had mistaken Karlie for Linda.

“Thanks, but I really need to go. I am done here.”

“Last thing, my name’s Josephine Moriarty Lush.”

Karlie started to walk away She turned around. “What did you say?”

“Josephine Moriarty Lush.”

“Stop lying. Just let me leave.” Karlie began running away. Tears fell from her eyes. As she ran, the boys stopped her.

“Don’t leave just yet. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t want this. But I also know that you should clean up and go back there to listen to her. She might have something important to tell you.” Derek always knew what to say.

Karlie agreed. She went to the bathroom and fixed herself up. She tried to stay strong and went back to talk with Mrs. Moriarty. As Karlie entered the room, the woman could feel her presence.

“Will you stay this time?”

“I’ll try.” Karlie could barely talk, she had forgotten most words.

“My dad was John Moriarty. Can you guess who my mom was?”

“I’m not here for fun and games.”

“Well, okay then. My mom was Lucinda. Lucinda Lush. Recognize her?”

Karlie gasped. “Gram?”

“Mom,” replied Mrs. Moriarty.

“Gram Lu is your mom?”

“That’s right!”

In the meantime, the boys were in the hallway trying to listen to what Mrs. Moriarty and Karlie were talking about. It was really confusing. The ladies continued.

“Stop lying. I am nobody to you.”

“Can you just listen for a second? My mom, Lucinda, had me as a young woman, only 16. She put me in a foster home because she believed she was too young to take care of me. It was years before anyone adopted me. I lived a miserable life. My days in the foster home were boring. I had so much spare time that I even found out my mom’s name. I knew nothing about her. All I knew was that she didn’t want me. I can’t remember exactly how I ended up with the picture, but I got a picture of my mom and a picture of me and made a collage. I still have it till this day.

“My experience was terrible. I dreamed of the day I would have my own daughter and make her live a perfect life. When Linda was born, I loved her unconditionally. No one could take her away from me.”

“Except…”

“Yes, she passed, but I had this feeling that it was all a lie.”

“So you waited for her here. In this exact spot for her to find you.”

“I have waited for so long that I have forgotten the outside world. After seeing you, I understood that I still have family, even if they hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not lying. But hey, how do you know i’m your niece?”

“The first thing I thought about when you said Lush was that you were my sister, however you were too young. Then, I thought that my mom had had another daughter that I had never known about. It turns out I was right. I am glad to say that now I have a neice.”

Karlie started crying. She looked like a waterfall. She had hated Mrs. Moriarty since the minute she had met her, now she just felt like she could not hate her. Karlie understood her past and thought that Mrs. Moriarty just needed some love. She ran up to the rocking chair and gave her a big hug. Her aunt returned a bigger hug.

“I want you in my life,” Karlie said while she sobbed.

“I want you in mine,” Auntie Moriarty responded. She smiled for the first time since after Linda was born.

As they moved apart from each other, a tear could be seen sliding down Mrs. Moriarty face. After a life of suffering, now, there was a reason to live.

 

My Camp Love

After you read this you may think my life is some cheesy teenage camp love story you find on Disney Channel but this- this is a true story. A story about a real teenage love.

 

Hi, I’m Winter and I’m 13 and I’m not like every other girl in my school. I’m Bisexual and Genderfluid. I’m attracted to boys and girls. And one day I could be a boy and another day I can be a girl and another I can be neutral. The first day of camp I was stoked but I was scared. I was happy to meet new people but I didn’t know how happy they were to meet me. When I arrived to the DC headquarters there she was: her short blonde hair with brown streaks. She called herself Beck. She had a creative personality and a passion for friendship. When you looked in her eyes, it was like in an instant your heart beat out of your chest. Before I knew it we were being shipped together on the bus. How we fell in love Is a whole other story.

 

It all started on the bus. She was a little car sick. So was I. So she held my hand until we got here. it was like when we touched fireworks burst in my heart. I thought she didn’t like me but I guess I was wrong. Because that same day I decided to pass her a note at the event with song lyrics: A backless dress and some beat up sneaks. My discotheque Juliet teenage dream. And she responded: You’re adorable. Thank you, love. After the event,  we got our food. She walked to the health center and I kissed her soft cheek. At first I was a little scared so I started to run but she stopped me and kissed me back. Like they say in the movies, “It was like we were the only two in the world.” But that’s how it felt. I waited for her outside the health center and I walked her to her cabin. I kissed her goodnight.  

 

Then next day I was eager to see her. But she was telling everyone that we were together like I was some kind of toy. I didn’t understand. She said she needed to talk to me. That’s always a bad sign. But it wasn’t. She said she hadn’t been in a real relationship before and that she wanted to date just for camp to see how it went. I was little skeptical but I trusted her. And with that we kissed each other goodbye and went to our separate cabins. That night I could think of nothing else but her. Her voice, her hair, her name, her warm skin on my hand. I love her.

 

Love is a strong word a word you only use if you really mean it. Love: an intense feeling of deep affection. And that was what I was feeling: deep affection. The next day at the event I walked her to canteen. It was pretty romantic but at the same time not because there were people everywhere so it wasn’t that romantic as I thought. I sat down trying to quietly write a song. But it was so loud. So I walked out of the room and I glanced at her. She came chasing after.

 

“Are you mad at me? Did I do something?” she said.

 

“No it’s just, I’m a little tired,”  I responded.

 

I went to my cabin after that everyone wanted to know about Beck. If we were dating and what the deal was.

 

“Where were you?” Anne says.

 

“I was walking Beck to her cabin, sorry,” I reply.

 

“It’s cool,” says Marley.

 

“So are you and Beck like dating now?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Just wondering.”

 

“If you must know then yes…”

 

“Now I need to shower.”

 

“When you come out of the shower you need to tell us everything!”

 

I told them everything I wanted to but I left out a few details.

 

For a few days Beck was avoiding me. I was a little confused. Last time I checked couples were supposed to talk at least once a day. After the second day I started saying to my friend Tabitha that I might end it with Beck because she was pretty much using me for a trophy at camp. So the next day at the dance, I started thinking and I started to cry and I sat by the window on the second floor thinking about how I would cut it off.

 

I really loved her but the question was, does she love me? Tabitha saw me crying and she walked over to me and she asked me what was wrong. I told her again that I thought Beck was using me for camp. Then Beck came over to hug me and she asked Tabitha to step away for a while. I told Beck that I thought she was just using me for camp and that she didn’t really love me.

 

And that every time I walked up to her she would walk away or walk faster. She told me that she really did love me and she wanted to date me. She told me that everytime I walked up to her and walked away was because she was in an argument. Then she did something that proved her point. She kissed me. Smack on my lips. We ran back into the party and she lead me to Tabitha and she kissed me again. Then we danced for a good five minutes until I got thirsty. So I went to go get water. Beck told me she would be with Melissa our friend from DC. When I got back I was pulled outside by Melissa and Beck and they told me something that really sucked. Beck told me that she realized she wasn’t romantically attracted to me. She kept apologizing. But I couldn’t take it. I ran inside and sat next to the hot chocolate machine and cried. Tabitha saw me and she took me into the boys bathroom to calm me down. She told me I was the most beautiful bravest smartest person she knows and that if Beck can’t see that then that’s her fault.

 

She asked me if I was going to sit here and cry or get out there and dance like there was no tomorrow. And I did. I had a fun night. I had forgotten about Beck until someone brought her up in my cabin and I cried. I was awake thinking, Why did she just tell me? Why not tell me before we started dating? Why me? Why does every girl I date change their mind? My first girlfriend told me that she wasn’t bisexual while we were dating and now Beck says she’s not romantically attracted to me. I cried and cried until I got tired.

 

Next thing I knew it was morning and we were heading to breakfast. I told her that I wasn’t mad at her but I was broken hearted. I walked away. I wanted to talk to her again but I didn’t feel like I could. I felt like she wouldn’t even acknowledge me. For the first time I was admitting I was scared. I was really scared. I was scared to look at her in her deep eyes and fall for her again but then realize it would be a spiral of falling in love and falling out of love. So I just left, I left myself on a cliff hanger. But I don’t want to find out what happens next.

The Tree

The tree has been behind the house far as long as I could remember. When I asked my parents about it they said it has been there since we have moved in when I was five. We decided to ask about it to a dendrologist (because apparently you can study trees as a career). The dendrologist said that they would come over and check it out to see themselves.

We waited a week for the dendrologists to show up. A week that was very nerveracking for me. What can I say, I was curious. I sat down and asked my dad to look up trees. That didn’t help considering I didn’t even know half the things he was talking about. I was five, give me a break. Anyway, I decided to watch TV to solve my problem because I thought Mickey Mouse knew all the answers. I soon found out that was not the case which lead to me running to my room and crying my eyes out. The tree had ruined my childhood.

After the Mickey Mouse incident I decided to just sit down by my window and watch the tree. Analyze it, try to figure it out. All I could understand at my age was that it looked old. The bark was chipped. That was all I could tell. So I sat there each day until finally it was the night before we would figure out it’s age. I wondered what the tree had seen, the secrets it could be hiding. I got so curious I couldn’t fall asleep. So I decided to sleep next to the tree.

I snuck out after I made sure my parents were asleep. With my footie pajamas and Winnie the Pooh blanket I settled down next to the tree and fell into a deep sleep. The tree loomed over me in a protecting way, sheltering me from the things that went crawling in the night.

The next day I woke up to my parents yelling my name. When I opened my eyes I caught the sight of them running to me with frantic looks on their faces. Once they reached me they hugged me very tightly. I didn’t understand, I was just outside.

“Don’t ever do that again, Angel,” Dad said with tears in his eyes. I nodded and looked back at the tree sadly. I had slept well last night with the tree and had hoped to do it again. I guess not.

Later that day the dendrologist came to examine the tree. When he came back in the house he gave us the news.

“I’m guessing the tree is a little over one hundred,” he said. “It’s meeting its end.”

After that I asked my parents what this meant. What was this end? After they exchanged looks Mom looked down at me and picked me up, holding my body to her side.

“Remember when grandpa stopped visiting a few months ago,” Mom said.

“Yeah, he couldn’t afford it,” I said. Of course it came out as foward it but that was what I meant. Mom seemed to understand though and smiled sadly.

“Angel, grandpa had really ended. He stopped living. God put us down here for a purpose. But unfortunately whether we complete it or not we stop living, because of Lucifer, and go to heaven.”

I started to tear up and my lip was trembling. “But I don’t wanna end. I wanna stay here.”

Mom squeezed me tighter against her side. “I know, baby, I know.”

So for the next few hours we sat down and hugged each other, trying to feel comfort. Dad came down and sat with us, hugging us both tightly. It remained silent.

When night came I slipped out of my parents arms and walked to the back door. I glanced back at them, thinking how I didn’t want them to end. Then I opened the door and ran outside. When I reached the tree I opened my arms and hugged it with all my might.

I don’t want you to end, I thought. Then I pulled myself together and walked back inside to my parents.

…………………………………………

As the years went by I continued my nightly visits to the tree despite my parents’ warning. For some reason when I’m with it I feel better. I started to bring out sketch paper to draw different versions of the tree. When I return to my room I post it on the wall with my many other, similar but different, pictures of the tree.

When I turned eleven I decided I would become a dendrologist. The tree made me interested in plants and when I was old enough I pushed for my mom and dad to plant a garden in the backyard. We planted lilies, petunias, dandelions, roses and more. Mom and dad were out most of the time so I was the sole caretaker of the plants. Everyday after I watered my plants I brought my sketchbook and started to draw anything my eyes sought out. One time in the summer, when the plants first started to bloom, I drew the tree looming over the plants protecting them them from the overbearing sun just like it protected me when I was five. When I posted the picture on my wall I smiled. The tree wasn’t alone anymore.

…………………………………………

When I turned sixteen I decided to bring my best friend, Charlie, to see the tree for the first time. That was considered a big step for me because I’ve never brought anyone there before, the garden was my safe haven. Ever since I started this garden it had evolved into something more beautiful. There was a fountain in the middle of the backyard and a pathway that lead to the middle of the flowers. The pathway ends in front of the tree. The colors of the flowers helped brighten everything up. I couldn’t be more proud.

Of course I was scared out of my mind. What if she didn’t appreciate it as much as I did. What if she accidently killed some of the newborns? Bad scenarios flashed into my head which didn’t ease my nerves. I was going to tell her to turn back until I realized we were already at my house. Charlie was oozing a positive aura. She really wanted to see my garden ever since I told her about it four years ago. I was too protective at the time but I was feeling so happy today I thought, why not.

I sighed to myself. I should just get this over with. Charlie deserved to see it after six years of friendship. With that thought, I opened the gate to the backyard of my house and reluctantly lead my eager friend into my garden. When it came in sight my friend froze. I turned around confused at her actions, until I saw the look of awe on her face. Slowly she started to walk down the trail taking in everything her eyes saw. Then she laughed, breaking the tense silence that had settled.

“This is amazing, Angela!” she yelled. I started to relax. I was worried over nothing. Charlie ran over to the tree and stood in front of it. “How old is it?” she prompted.

“A bit over 100, we aren’t exactly sure,” I replied and watched as Charlie circled the tree. “I guess it’s about 130 this year. Closing in on it’s end.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, looking a little sad. The she brightened again. “Bet I can beat you to the top of this tree.” And with that she was off.

I quickly overtook her considering I knew the tree like the back of my hand. After the race we just sat there and looked on as the sun started to set. I noticed Charlie was asleep on the tree branch and smiled to myself feeling content and happy that I made the decision to bring her here. As I continued to look at her an idea hit me. I quickly headed down from the tree and ran into the house. When I returned I had my sketching supplies in my hands. I set them down and got to work. It took me thirty minutes before I was finished. A picture of Charlie in the tree surrounded by colorful flowers in the sunset.

I smiled to myself. This was going on my wall.

……………………………………………………..

“What?!” I shouted. My voice echoed in my parents room. I was 22 yet I still came to my parents house to tend to the garden. It just mattered too much to me. I was studying Botany in college and it is going well. I’ve made more friends with people who love plants as much as I do. Things were going well until I heard the news.

Mom and Dad were selling the house. Which meant they were selling the garden and all the good memories in here. Pictures don’t matter, they’re not as good as the real thing. The garden with so many colors and smells and feelings will never be the same with other people taking care of it because they won’t care as much as I do. All the plants would die.

“How could you do this?!” I exclaimed.

“I knew how hard this would be for her,” Dad muttered to Mom. “Angel, we need a change of scenery. The house is getting old along with us. It’s time.”

“What about the garden?” I said. My parents exchanged looks. “What if the people moving in won’t take care of it well enough? It’ll die.”

“Then we’ll make sure the buyers are willing to take care of it,” Mom said.

I paced around the room running my hands through my red hair. This is not happening this is not happening this is not happening. After all these years I assumed I would always be with my garden. This crushed my dreams. There has to be a way out of this. Suddenly an idea hit me.

I turned around quickly, startling my parents. “I could buy the house.”

They blinked at me. They had unsure looks on their faces. “Angel, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?” I countered.

“Because we don’t feel comfortable taking your money while you’re still in college,” Mom replied.

“Please! If you know me at all you know how much this garden means to me.” I could see I was getting to them. “And you know I work hard enough to pay the bills.”

There was a moment of silence. I started to get nervous. Please say yes.

“All right,” Mom said reluctantly. “But you have to be sure.”

“I’m positive,” I said excitedly. I won’t be parted from my tree. Not now.

……………………………………….

I watched as they cut the tree down. Remembering all the times we had together and how I tended to it. I found out it was close to death when I saw it start to bend today. I was heartbroken. I cried so hard that I collapsed near the dying tree. I don’t want you to end, I thought. That night I went into the house and took a blanket and slept next to the tree for the first time in over a decade. The last night the tree would have and it protected me one last time from the creatures in lurking in the dark.

When the tree finally came down I felt something break on the inside. Like when Mom and Dad died. But just like then I walked slowly toward the tree, bent down and kissed it. I’ll remember you, I thought and with that I sat in the middle of the garden. My little safe haven that lost its protector.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

A month later a new tree began to grow.

HER

I walked down the hallway. I don’t know where she is. We were in an accident. They took her here. I don’t know where she is. I’m confused. I need to look through every room. I need to find her. She has to be here. I feel like my head is full of water. I feel my body dropping, I hit the ground.

I hurt. I hurt everywhere, I hear people around me talking, whispering. I think they are talking about me.

“We cannot save him,” I hear one of them say.

I am not dead, I know. I need them to know that.

I try to tell them but they clearly hear nothing. I don’t know what to do. I need to know what to do. I first need to find her, before I’m dead.

 

“Alright, everyone up! We have a real patient. He is in a coma, no name, we found him three weeks ago at a scene of a car crash. He was then taken to the closest hospital, where he got up from his bed, walked down the hall, and collapsed. He was given to us and now he is in a coma.”

 

I hear them talking about me. I see them too but they don’t know I can see them nor do they know I can hear them. I need to know where she is, I need to wake up. I don’t want to sleep, I have been asleep for too long now. I need to find her, I don’t remember her name but I know that we were close. I watch them leave the room. Then a pretty female doctor comes in. She sits down next to me. It smells funny in here, like a doctor’s office. I don’t like it here. I look around past the woman in scrubs. I look at the machines, different from any I have ever seen at a normal hospital or doctor’s office. She looks around, then starts to talk.

 

“I know you don’t know who we are, and we don’t know who you are. But we need to find out what happened to you. I’m going to talk to you as if you are awake — did you know that some patients in comas can hear people around them, and if their eyelids are open they can see? So would it be alright if i opened your eyelids?” She starts to put something into the IV.

 

I had been able to see this whole time, it was like I was frozen, unable to talk and unable to wake up.

 

“Alright, now you can see, how are you today? I’m going to take some blood. I will be right back.”

 

She seemed nice, but I need to find her, I try to get up out of bed, but I can’t. I get light headed. I hear a long flat “eeeeee,” like in the movies when someone dies in a hospital. Then, all I see is blackness and all I can hear is the “eeeeee.” I can’t smell anything. I know I’m not dead yet, but I need to find her, she has to know where I am. I feel a sharp stabbing pain in my chest, then everything goes black, more dark than before, I stop thinking and feel like I’m stuck in a dark black room with no one. Then I see her, she is standing in the dark looking around. I yell at her but she doesn’t hear me. I smell her perfume — she smells like candy, sugar sweet. Just then, I feel something pulling me back, away from her. I feel people touching me, poking me with needles. Then I see them, I am out of the darkness. I see the woman from before. They are bringing me back to life, I hope. I forget about them and I see her, I see the girl. She is in front of my bed, watching them work on me.

 

She smiles and says, “You have to live, I am here waiting for you.”

 

Then she disappears. I try to imagine who she is. They stop poking and touching me, they all leave but the woman from before, the woman in scrubs. She stays and starts stitching, she works the needle through my skin and back out, in and out, in and out, and again.

 

“Well, we helped your heart out a little bit, you have to keep trying to come back to us. We need you here. You are so brave, come back to us.”

 

She doesn’t know me, but she stays with me for hours. She has knitting needles, unlike the one she was using on my chest earlier. She talks about her family, her pets, and her life, she talks about her whole life. She says that she is making me a sweater. I don’t know why she is doing this, she doesn’t know me. I remember everything about my life before, but the one thing I cannot remember is my name or her name. The female doctor tells me her name is Hannah. She tells me that I have been here for a whole month and that they are trying to find my family. She says she wants to give me a name, just something so that she doesn’t have to call me “ John Doe.” She says that that’s too plain and boring. She tells me that she doesn’t mind sitting with me all night. I stop listening to her and I think about the girl from before. “Her.” I need to find her, before I get too attached with the woman who was stitching my chest up, I need to find “the one.”

Prologue of the Hunters

Prologue

The small clicks of the shapeshifter’s eyes as they turned silver was what alerted the hunter to a quickly approaching creature. The older man raised his silver blade in one hand, silver bulleted gun in the other threateningly.

“You come any closer, I’m going to attack!” snarled the male.

The moonlight that had managed to filter in through thick clouds reflected off the sharp dagger clasped in the huntsman’s hands. He let out a sneer, his breath reeking of alcohol. He took a staggering step forward, unsteady on his feet, as no hunter should be. In his age, the man should have been dead, but he had been lucky, returning from the underworld on multiple occasions to keep on with his never ending thirst for murder.

 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he cackled, the short song sounding creepy with his tone.

“I would rather not, knowing my death is in your hands,” called the creature.

A wicked smile grew on the hunter’s face. He took slow, steady steps towards the voice, which had called out from the dark patch of woodland that lay next to the highway, where the old man’s dirty 1998 Honda was parked. He knew the game he was playing was a dangerous one. Shapeshifters could be anything. Anyone. One good move on the shape shifter’s part would mean mortal danger for the hunter.

 

The hunter instantly thought of his deceased wife, who had been killed on the hunt. He shook his head. He couldn’t let the shapeshifter know he had a weakness. It could morph into his wife, and easily make him drop his guard.

The hunter let out a growl, poising his weapons. Yes, the hunter may have been intoxicated, but he had been in his game for so long his natural instincts were set to observe and kill. As in, observe the supernatural creature, kill it quickly.

“Who are you coming out as?” asked the cocky hunter.

The shapeshifter’s silver eyes glinted in the shadows. “Excuse me?”

“Who will you transform your ugly self to, so I’ll surrender?”

The shapeshifter smirked, his lips revealing an ugly set of teeth.

“Perhaps your dad. Brother? Or I can do one better. Your poor, dead wife.”  

The hunter let out a croak. He turned, backing his way to the forest on the other side of the road. The shifter, seeing his turn of direction, quietly lept forward, pinning the old man to the ground. He snatched the blade and gun, tossing them aside. The hunter’s dark eyes were wide with fear.

“No! I’m sorry!” He screamed, thrashing in the shifter’s hold.

The shifter grinned at the power he now possessed over this man. He flashed an array of sharp teeth, which he had received in his shift to another form.

 

“Are you still going to kill me? With that gun and knife that are… Oh wait!”

He let out a cackle, nodding to the weapons the hunter had earlier possessed. “They’re over there!”

The shapeshifter leaned down, eyes flitting to silver, then back to the dark blue of his body. A soft clicking sound echoed through the air as his eyes changed. The shifted sunk its razor sharp teeth in the man’s neck, feeling the soft tissue break open.

The pursuer screamed in agony, writhing in pain. The teeth that were in the shifters mouth currently, were sharp, and tore through the man’s flesh easily.

“No!” screamed the man.

“No! Please! I’m sor—” His screams were silenced as the shape shifter carelessly grabbed a knife from his own belt, stabbing the hunter in chest.

Blood soaked the hunter’s ripped shirt. He gurgled as foam spilled from his lips. He shuddered under the shifter, before his breathing stopped and his movements slowed to a standstill.

 

Standing, the supernatural creature wiped its hands delicately on a blood stained handkerchief. He sighed, placing it back in the pocket of his pants before glancing around. He looked around the clearing. If anyone had strayed from the road and witnessed the killing, the shifter would easily adapt to their form, killing them too. More swiftly than the last. Shedding the skin and hair of his previous form, the shape shifter morphed to the hunter he had just killed, disappearing into the woods without the slightest quiver of the underbrush or the swishing of the trees.

Yelp Review

Cerebral Hawk and the Combo are an LA based, indie rock band. With their first album, “Hate People, Love Small Rodents,” they demonstrated their love for simple, guitar based melodies with aggressive percussion. Their breakout song, “High Schoolers Makes Me Nauseous,”  featured the lead singer, Blackout Betty, with her extensive and expressive vocals. Cerebral Hawk and the Combo promise a new album soon, but for now, they are touring Siberia.

 

Lyona R: Over Labor Day weekend, I wanted to go to a fun, low key concert nearby.  Since they were touring in Ohio and I live in the Grand Canyon, it was a pretty short drive. I went with a few of my friends, fellow indie rock enthusiasts like myself. When we arrived, expecting a chill, fun day, we were totally taken aback. The guitarist and drummer had gone out to go get tacos, and the lead singer and the bass player were the only remaining players. The singer was very dramatic and spent forty five minutes crying into the mic. She thought that they had left forever, since apparently both the guitarist and drummer hated tacos. The bassist was very awkward and tried to get the crowd revved up and started playing some music, but the singer pushed him off the stage. When the guitarist and drummer came back with coffees, the singer was so moved, she threw herself at them, and they dropped their coffees, which broke the amps and nearly electrocuted everyone. Needless to say, I had a terrible time. One star, because the singer had cool hair.

 

Krazy Kyle: I love Cerebral Hawk and the Combo! They are so good! I have been to every concert, except the one in Ohio, because I live in Michigan, and that’s much too far. I highly recommend them! The lead singer is very chill, fun, and sometimes dramatic, but what would you expect from a musician? Go see them! They are great! Five stars from this guy!

 

Judy W: I went to go see Cerebral Hawk and the Combo with my children because I thought it was a scientific and educational band. It was not! Do not be fooled! We went to a concert in Boston in May and it was terrible! The leader singer had very unbecoming hair, the bassist was awkward, but the drummer and guitarist were very handsome. Nevertheless, none of them wore enough clothing and their songs were all rock and roll! No thank you! I wish we had gone to see Minions instead, that’s for sure!  Zero stars.

 

Tyrannan Lee: I went to go see Cerebral Hawk and the Combo because I loved their song, “High Schoolers Make Me Nauseous.” So imagine my surprise when I saw the amount of teens there. I hate teenagers! Many near me talked about weed and yolo and I wanted to throw up. The songs were okay, though. Three stars.

The Guy’s Perspective

I was going on a date, was it a date or was it not. It was confusing. I mean it was not really officially a date but it seemed it. Well I got an uber to the longboard shop. My mum is so suspicious about me when I go out late. So I told her I was going with my friend Vikram and a couple of others. He is so trustworthy that my mum would let me go to an underground rave with him. Fortunately he was not there because he is the worst wingman ever. Anyway at the longboard shop I grabbed my board that I had left there and boarded to the theatre. When I got there I was waiting for my maybe date. I was nervous so I started boarding around. A security guard came up and yelled, “No boarding or I will take your skateboard!” I was so close to telling him it was a longboard but I didn’t.

Anyway it was about 9:25 p.m. and I was nervous I was going to get stood up. I mean it wasn’t really a date but I was still worried. I mean it seemed so impossible I was going to see a movie with this girl. She was so far out of my league it was ridiculous. I mean I was pretty sure she just viewed this as a platonic movie. But we were seeing Paper Towns, that is not a platonic movie to see. I was just sitting there as about 30 teenage girls walked past. There was a guy sitting on the bench across from me and I swear he thought I had been stood up. Just as I sent her a snapchat asking where she was I saw her.

Now I am not going to do the whole routine of how beautiful she was or anything like that even though she was but that’s too cheesy. But as a teenage boy I will say, she looked good! We made some small talk about how her little sister thought she had a boyfriend. When I heard that I was scared. Was this some kind of secret girl signal that I shouldn’t make a move or what?

We walked inside and this is where my English roots came in handy, I had bought both tickets and we just went in. When we got into the theatre, auditorium 4, I looked around. There were no guys anywhere. We made small talk, I think I slipped a couple of compliments in, but I can barely remember what about because I was so nervous. I could feel my heart beating so loudly. I am not usually like this but this girl was special, all I could think of was how out of my depth I was, and how out of my league she was. I made her laugh a couple of time and that made me feel better. She kept fiddling with her bag and I wasn’t sure whether it was because she didn’t want to be there or for some other reason. The lights went down and the movie started.

I kept thinking about whether I should make a move or what. I decided to go get a drink for myself and she asked for a slushie. She gave me a 20 to buy the drinks as I had paid for the tickets. I bought the drinks and paid myself. When I got back I gave her back her 20 and told her it was the change. I was hoping she was just going to put it in her purse but she realized that I had paid. I have been taught from a very young age that if you take a girl on a date you have to pay. This wasn’t officially a date but it was close enough. She was surprised I had paid but flattered I hoped.

I kept telling myself that the next time this or that happened in the movie I was going to do the whole yawn and put your arm around her. I kept chickening out and procrastinating but finally I built up the courage to do it. In regal cinemas you can lift up the armrest but it is tough to do so. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to lift it and would like an idiot. I lifted it up and put my arm around her. This is where it is the worst part from a guy’s point of view. You don’t know whether she is too scared to say no or really uncomfortable. About ten minutes later she went to the bathroom. I didn’t know what to feel. Maybe she was calling her friend complaining. Anyway I decided that when she got back I wasn’t going to keep my arm around her because she seemed really uncomfortable. When she got back we just held hands. This probably seems silly but for a guy the first move is the worst. After that you kind of know what to expect. The movie ended and we walked out. I was going to give her a goodbye kiss but she said her dad was nearby and the only thing scarier than teenage girls is their dads. I was so nervous about what to do I forgot my longboard. We just hugged and she left. For most this story seems kind of silly. But to a guy the first date (maybe, kind of, was it a date?) it is the most terrifying thing. I still don’t know what’s going on. Maybe she is creeped out and thought it was really stupid of me. Anyway, that is the guy’s perspective.

Excerpt: CONTROL

Prologue: Correspondence

 

Dearest Rosalind,

 

I have not been in correspondence with you in quite a while. Amid the war and the brutal rebellions of the Mirusians, we somehow have failed to sustain healthy contact with the people that we once trusted. It is funny how we forget about the things we need most in the midst of times like this. Well, I have written this with a proposal in mind.

 

Too many times has Caspian Actus revolted against his own people and turned the minds of the displaced. Too many times has he destroyed the work of his peers and even himself. Too many times have we allowed him to carry on, destruction in his wake. I am ashamed to know how many have died on his conscience, but unfortunately we cannot change the past. I believe that it is time to take action against this terrorist.

 

Ever since the fall of the Actus Liberium age, I am aware that we have not exactly been on the best of terms. I do not yet wish to apologize, but all people need to come together to resolve an issue as extreme as this one. We already have a few countries eager to participate in this plan, and if you choose not to join, we hope your citizens will not be hurt in the midst of it all. As Roman Ferris united our world, he broke the unspoken alliance of the Greater Region. I hope we can ignore our difference of opinions in time to stop this minor setback.

 

What I propose is a plan. A plan to control our people.

 

Please respond soon so that we can discuss my proposition.

              Sincerely,

           August Arcurius, Director of CONTROL

 

Chapter One: Memories

 

We stop, all of us out of breath. The strong torrent of pouring rain outside seems almost calming after everything that has happened. People are sitting up against the cracked stone walls and simply working on breathing normally again. Some are passed out and lie strewn across the wet dirt. A booming noise outside brings me back to my consciousness right before I’m about to fall asleep myself. I  find my way to my feet and stumble across the rock to the side of the cave.

The vines creeping up the walls seem meticulously placed, just like everything else I have ever known. I push at the wall, half expecting it to crumble in my hands. The wall holds its stance. I look behind me at a figure slumped against the wall. He still holds a lantern as if he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I survey the rest of the room to realize that I’m the only one still awake. Feeling alone, I try to push at the wall again. I turn around. I’m going to need help if I want to move the barrier. Who should I wake?

“Rory?” I call out.

No reply. I don’t dare try again in fear that someone or in fact something other than Rory will hear me.

I run over to one I recognize, Wren. I shake him, his stormy eyes flutter, not quite open, and I’m not sure if he’s completely awake. It was him that ran the farthest all the way from the cave entrance on the tip of the coast just to warn everyone on the way. He stirs, his eyes shifting from consciousness to still. He swings his arm to the side as if he’s attempting to get up, but falls.

“Amerie,” he says between deep breaths. “The police are coming.”

“I know, Wren. And we took care of that,” I respond.

“No, they’ll make it this time…” He starts to drift off to sleep.

What does he mean? They made it every time before. So their final goal still hasn’t been achieved? I try to stop the thoughts as they race through my head. They’ll come soon, and there’s no where to go but through the path that no one here has the strength to run. All I can do is wait to hear what they have to say. I sit, pulling my knees to my chest, rocking as the rain pours outside. Maybe I could make it across the chasm alone. I’m not as tired as the rest. But something other than gravity keeps me grounded. I can’t find the hope to get up. Maybe I have a few minutes to rest before the police arrive.

Just before I’m about to fall asleep, I see a shadow at the front of the cave. I jump to my feet. “Officer Lyre?”

The shadow speaks, “There has been a change of plans. Officer Lyre is dead.”

“Wh-” I begin to say.

“There is no need to speak. We are the higher power. Come a day when  the Mirusians no longer walk about this earth with shame or fear, our reign of freedom and equality will come to a complete close.”

A beaming brilliance shines from somewhere beyond the cave and I shield my eyes, attempting to retain my vision enough to keep my senses, but it is in vain. I can sense cold footsteps edging towards me and I scurry back, only to meet the wall behind me. The floor quivers. I feel an indescribable stinging in my arm and close my eyes. The extreme pain of my arm feels like it’s being ripped open. A figure kneels next to me as if trying to help, but falls to the ground as well. “Rory,” I say.

 

And that’s all that I remember,” I say.

“Well, miss. You certainly have a vivid memory,” the officer says. “We’ll get the citizenship papers set up, and then you’re free to go.”

“It’s that easy? I don’t need to take a test or anything?”

“We don’t exactly need to worry about overpopulation or fraud. You’re the first one to come to our town in a long time.”

While I’m very curious as to what he means, I don’t question it. I ask a more pressing question that has been on my mind. “Any report of new visitors? I doubt I’m the only one from the memory that came here. Any boy named Rory?”

“Miss, you’ve been here for about five minutes. They still have time to come.”

“So, can you answer some of my questions now?” I ask.

“Within reason.”

“Where am I?”
“The Ophelia Grasslands. It’s an area that was formed shortly after the Caelestisian Wars. Most of our small population-”

“Sorry, the Caelestisian Wars?” I interrupt.

He sighs. “The wars over the new stars? No recollection at all? The only way you could have been completely oblivious to those nine wars is if you were in the Undergrounds! They would never let a girl like you in the Undergrounds!”

“And the Undergrounds are…?” I reply.

“The huge cities!” he says gesturing with his hands in disbelief. “The network of beautiful streets built in the old mines after the explosions from World War IV!”

“I-”

“Hold on, I think I have a photo I can show you.”

As the door clicks shut and the officer leaves, I examine my surroundings. The perfectly square room is ornately decorated with maroon velvet curtains and patterns etched onto the walls. Patterns that I cannot place, but I have seen before. A chandelier hangs above my head, swaying gently from the wind of a window left open. And last of all, the paintings. I don’t have very much memory, but I’m pretty sure there has never been this many paintings per square foot of a wall in one room. The images shown in the paintings vary from large cities–that primarily differ from what I assume to be the norm–to barren deserts to tranquil meadows to unrealistically detailed portraits. I stand up and wander the room to get a better look at the strange paintings. I look over at a smaller painting with a little boy on a boat- maybe 25 feet across with a strong sail- with the words Actus Liberium carved on it with silver glittering paints staining the impression. The boy smiles and squints in the sun at the camera. He truly looks happy. On the frame of the painting it reads “Navis Caspian!” I stare at the painting for a long time.

The officer reenters the room. “Ah, that’s Caspian Actus there. He was the one to start the rebellions that got us to where we are now.”

“So, why would you have this picture of him as a little kid?” I respond.

“Oh, people don’t dislike him. We respect and honor him. He brought about the change of the billennium. We’re happy here, in our little…” he trails off, “our little community.”

“It’s still a bit strange that you keep his baby pictures in the police office,” I say.

The officer looks puzzled and laughs dropping the photo he brought in. “In what world did you live in that you have a building for the police to rest in?”

I glance at the picture he dropped. A group of people in white dresses and t-shirts stand at the bottom of a huge cavern decorated with vines sweeping across. Victorian style houses are stacked upon each other, built into the walls. Ladders lead children from one house to the next. At every window are flowers, planted neatly and brighter than any other flower I have ever seen. A cobblestone street lines the ground a hundred feet down. There are people on the street and no cars in sight. Through a tunnel at the end of the street I can see another cavern, with a similar scene. More roads lead in and out of the huge rooms. These streets must go on for miles. But the strangest part is the boy. The point from which the photo is taken is a platform that must be at the very top of the cave. No one looks at the camera. In front of the view is a boy standing. His face looks familiar. He’s not smiling, but he looks proud, regal. He looks almost as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh for the sake of the picture. After staring at the picture I finally speak. “Where are we, then?”

“This is the Observatory,” he replies, pausing before saying, “let’s take a step outside.”

He begins to exit the strange room and I pause and pick up the picture he dropped. Crumpling it in my hand I stuff it in the pocket of the coat I arrived here with. He leads me through a dome shaped door with a shiny silver handle. After I blacked out, I woke up in this “Observatory” and I haven’t seen this strange outside. The light peering from outside the door barely breaches where I stand. I scuffle my feet, hoping to get a better look at what’s outside.

The officer shuts the door suddenly. “Change of plans, the Parade is here.”
“The Parade?” I ask.

He looks distraught. “A mob. Anyone who follows them joins the Parade. There’s no way to get out. If the police try to stop them we just black out. But we never know where they go or when they’re coming other than the fact that they always come after something big has happened. Sort of as a reminder that no matter what happens this town will always be the same. Come on. We need to head to the glass tower,” he says, grabbing his coat and heading to a spiral staircase in the center of the room. How had I not noticed it?

“What was the big event?” I ask.

“Your appearance.”

 


I can hear people yelling outside and I see traces of fire in the window. Suddenly, I hear a huge crash and the room appears to be blurring. My vision blackens on the edges and I can only fathom colors when I concentrate on them. I can hear speaking somewhere, but I can’t place the words. For a moment I can’t really remember how to decipher words or even listen. Everything that my body used to do voluntarily now seems like a job for me to do. I can’t control myself, I’m falling. If I ever made it up the stairs, I don’t know.

I wake up to people marching, but my eyes are still closed.  They’re chanting as if they were off to war in a bittersweet it’s-ending, we’re-off-to-our deaths kind of way. I only catch a few words like, “tired” and “insane.” I seem to be being carried somewhere. My eyes fly open against my will from my curiosity. For a moment all that I see is a blur of colors. I lie on a wooden plank adorned with a old looking off white carpet on top. My eyes adjust, and I’m looking at the sky. The clearness is almost off putting. I can’t see a cloud in miles each way. The chanting loudens to an almost ear-splitting volume. Just when I feel like I need to make a break for it before my eardrums stop working, the chanting stops.

“She’s awake!” a voice calls.

I shut my eyes and squeeze them shut. They don’t seem to care. With a jolt, the plank I lie on is dropped, and the dust and anthills of the dry ground surround my face. I lie motionlessly.

I hear a whistle and the dust clouds around my face as the people I never really saw, leave. Without thinking, I sit up and only catch one face, the boy from the picture, staring at me as if he recognized me too.

 

 

I stand up and begin to walk, heading from memory in the direction that only feels right to get back to town. I pay attention to my steps, trying to make them even and balanced, but that only throws me off, putting me back in my limp.

Finding my memory to be correct, I arrive back at the green. I take a step back. The clearing that was once empty is now filled with huge trees, covering the sky like a deep green roofed forest. The trees are the tallest I have ever seen, maybe 160 feet tall, with trunks big enough for a human to live in. The mere scale of the tree makes me feel small and puts my recent experiences into perspective. I remember a life before this. No details from it, not even a last name, but I sense it was there, and it, even not remembered still feels like normalcy I’m missing. But I can tell that it’s gone. How can you go back to something you don’t remember? Lost in my thoughts and feeling swirls of misplaced nostalgia, I hardly notice when a car pulls up behind me.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? Nothing quite like ‘em in this town,” says a soft voice behind me. I hear the car door slam shut. “I’m Officer Edley. I hear you’re familiar with my friend, Officer Surrey. Welcome to Ophelia.”

I nod. “These trees…” I start, finally turning around to face a tall brunette woman who looks as if she commanded armies in her free time. She has a puzzled look on her face that throws off the whole threatening look. Something about her reminds me of something I once knew.

Finding it difficult to finish my train of thought, I watch helplessly as the woman cuts me off. “So what are you doing all the way out here?”

“The Parade, they-” I begin again.

“Oh, I heard about your run-in with the parade, practically the whole town has. Headline: ‘14-Year-Old Stranger Rejected by the Parade.’”

“Is that actually-” I start to ask. “I’m 15,” I point out, unsure of how I know that or why that was important for the officer to know.

“Not in the news yet, at least, but I’m sure they’ll be all over you the second you emerge from this forest.”

Maybe that is what I need. If the others from my memories are here and have memories of me like I have memories of them, maybe they will be able to find me before I find them. I push that out of my mind. “About the forest, it just appeared…are things like that commonplace around here?”

“You came to this place twice, I’m guessing, on your way back the second time you must have come the wrong way. See, this dry area, it’s a circle. Surrounded by the grass. On one half is the forest, the other half the clearing. That’s how I found you, just driving around the circle.”

I nod uncertainly.

“You got nothing to worry about, we’re a pretty average town.”

But if there’s one thing I remember learning in my past life, it’s that things may be disproved–rumours told by people about other people, facts from the past– but once someone has felt a certain feeling because of the rumour, the feeling stays even if the rumour is forgotten. Something was off about this town, even if this desert was in fact a circle. There was some reason I was brought to this town of all of the possible places that booming voice could have brought me. There is some reason I can’t shake the feeling I know everyone in this town.

 

 

I open the passenger seat door and collapse on the plush seat. The engine turns over with a rumble and the car starts to move.

“Have there been any new arrivals?” I ask.

“Yes, actually, a boy was found. Three days ago. He was asleep in the wine cellar uptown. Dark brown hair, light hazel eyes, know him?” the officer rambles on.

“Three days ago? Three days ago even I wasn’t here.”

“Kid, you’ve been here for a week now. We’re a good 60 miles from the Ophelia. From what our scouts saw, you walked with the parade for six days.”

“No, no,” I reply, “I was sleeping… I was unconscious!”
“Clearly you haven’t heard or felt the nightmare of war,” the officer starts. “You know what made World War IV special?”

I shake my head. “Never even heard of a ‘World War.’”

“Well it was the memory loss. Over half of the total deaths were suicide. And it wasn’t the loss of family members and a sense of home that drove them to it. It was insanity. The biggest weapon of the war that let Arcurius win was his ability to erase and plant memories. After a while the people couldn’t trust themselves and didn’t even remember their fondest memories… or which side they were fighting for. Your memories define you. Memories are supposed to be forever, that’s what nature meant them to be. That’s why they’re so powerful. No person should be able to forget what they once knew. What you know and have experienced defines you. When that was taken away, the people didn’t have a reason to live anymore.” The officer stares ahead at the street. It’s drizzling now. The soft patter of the rain gives the effect that the officer is crying, but she keeps a straight face and drives on.

“All my memories are gone,” I reply, “but the emptiness isn’t complete yet. I still feel like I know myself. And I’ve learned too.”

“That’s the scary part. Memories are something Arcurius shouldn’t have messed with. You could have gone across the universe and back last night and not remember it. Maybe you did. You’ll never know. And maybe tomorrow you’ll wake up and not remember me. Maybe neither of us will remember this conversation, and it’s almost like it’s gone. If there’s no one there to think about it, it won’t matter if it happened or not. It’s gone.”

I try to take my mind off of the contemplation of the inevitable demise of my carefully orchestrated mind. We are silent for a long time and I observe the car we sit in. The ride will be just over an hour seeing that the officer needs to stop by a farm on the way back. The car is a brilliant shade of red with scratched handles as if people are always in a rush to enter and exit the car. The windows are roll-down, and as much as I’d like to open one to let some fresh air in, I’m sure I would just be embarrassed by my lack of strength and inability to open the window. Fake wood lines the seat and the control panel in front of the car. I suggested she put on the radio, but the officer said music these days wasn’t any good. I wouldn’t know.

Finally, I decide to speak. “Do you still have all of your memories?”

“No,” the officer replies sharply, “the chemicals used to change memories, there was a big spill back in the war. All the people who forgot, they were moved all over the world to different places. I don’t know where the others went. Hell, I don’t even know if that’s the truth. I don’t remember the others, or even my family. Maybe I didn’t have one, I’m living off of belief of what they told me,” her voice cracks, “and I don’t even believe them.”

The silence is deafening.

“I’m turning on the radio,” I say, “I don’t care if the music is crap.”

I’m about to click a station when Officer Edley stops me. “There is no music. We only get static nowadays.”

Suddenly something is different with the town. The connection I once thought Ophelia had with the rest of the world is gone. It feels hopeless, abandoned. What’s wrong with Ophelia? There’s nothing? No signal?

I see a tear run down the officer’s cheek. “They left us here.” She lets out a sob. “I don’t know where we are. We’re never going back home. This… Ophelia place wasn’t meant to be inhabited and will never be anyone’s home.” She turns to look at me. “Everyone here realizes it, we’re all just too scared to say it.”

I sit back on my seat. The rain smudges our view out the window now, and the windshield wipers are doing nothing to clear out the waves of water. I can’t tell if we’re even on a road anymore, everything is just the same colors, blurred together into different shapes to make a different image.

The officer sniffles. “We’re here.”

I pop open the car door and step out into the pouring rain. Everything seems slower, sadder. I can almost see the real Ophelia, hiding behind its mask of content. I see people running through the rain, holding books and bags over their head. Their eyes are bloodshot, and they all seem just a bit more tired than people should be, escaping the cold. I can only hear the patter on the street and a faint call in the distance. The town may seem calm, but the people are screaming on the inside. A few people catch my eyes and smile a bit.
There is some reason I feel like these people aren’t genuinely content although they all smile when looked at and force a laugh when they feel it necessary. There is some reason. I feel like I’m the reason these people can’t really smile anymore.

Murder at the Campground

Carolina Mayorga was a struggling artist who lived in an apartment building in Boulder, Colorado. She was originally from Bogotan, Colombia but moved to the US when she was going to college. Carolina watched the sun come up from behind the mountains as she sipped her coffee. “Bob?” she called to her husband. “Are you ready for work yet? It’s almost seven.”

“Coming honey,” he called back. Carolina walked over to the table where she had set the mail down earlier. As she flipped through it, she saw a mysterious envelope with her name on it. She quickly opened it and it read:

 

Dear Carolina Mayorga,

You have received an all expenses paid trip to “King’s Resort” in Orange County, California! Please arrive on July 17th. Do not bring any guests.

Sincerely,

  1. Smith

 

Carolina set the envelope down, went to her room, and started packing her things. She knew she had nothing better to do.

James Bell was a wealthy businessman who was planning on building a grocery store on the empty lot outside of his $1.5 million dollar home in Arlington, Virginia. He was a bachelor, and knew that he would always be a bachelor. When you’re 55 years old it, dating gets a lot harder. “Keys, keys, keys, where are my keys…” he sang to himself. As he was looking for his keys, he saw a strange letter sitting on his porch. He went outside and opened it. Inside it said the same thing as Carolina’s had. He went back inside and set the letter down on the kitchen table to be looked at later.

Kristin Christiansen lived in Juno, Alaska and worked at a helicopter company. She lived with her husband Jason who was away for the next three months on a business trip. They lived in an average sized house. Kristin believed that her life was a fairytale. She was from Yankton, South Dakota and had a loving and fun family. Her sister was her best friend, and she married the man of her dreams. What more could she ask for? “This is weird,” she said as she looked at the strange letter in her hand from J. Smith.

Zachary Clemens was a factory worker in Louisville, Kentucky. He was 38 years old and hadn’t gone to college. He lived in a dungy apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood known for murder and gang violence. But the rent was cheap and working at a factory didn’t give you that much money. Zachary was your typical loner, no friends and you don’t really know that much about him. Zach walked over to his nightstand and stared at the mysterious letter he had received from a mysterious person.

Claudia Fitzgerald was a hairdresser in NYC. She spoke in a thick New York accent. She was 26 years old and had a boyfriend named Andre. When Claudia was a teen, she worked with many modeling agencies. She was on the the cover of Teen Vogue twice, and had worked with Bobby Brown on their cosmetics line. But when she turned 19, everything changed. She ended up having a baby and had to quit modeling to take care her little girl, Lauren. As Claudia took her daughter out to the school bus, she picked up an envelope sitting on the door mat.

Alex Perez worked for a paper company in Scranton, Pennsylvania. If you were to ask someone to describe him in one word, that word would probably be “scrawny.” All through middle school and high school Alex was bullied about his size. He mostly kept to himself and was a very clean cut person in general. He had never done anything daring or extraordinary in his life, until he got a letter from J. Smith.

Gerald Sheth was a hardcore criminal who was known for robbing banks. On the streets, he was known as the “Money Maker” for his work in making counterfeit money. He had just gotten out of jail and was trying to change his life around for the better. He had bought an apartment (with real money) and was working at the local grocery store in Riverby, North Dakota. As he walked out of his bedroom to get the mail, he saw something weird in the pile. A pink letter from J. Smith.

 

…………

 

Carolina walked over to her husband. “Hey hun, did you get this letter too?” she asked.

“What letter?” Bob walked over to her and peered at the letter. “Nope, didn’t get one. What does it say?”

“It’s inviting me to stay at a resort, but I can’t bring any guests. Are you okay with me going? It’s just that I’m so stressed and none of my art is selling-”

“Sure! Go ahead, you work so hard here. I think you should get a break every once in a while. Get a massage and just relax.”

“Are you sure, because I can always just stay here and do something with you-”

“I’m positive. When are you leaving?”

“Friday.”

“That’s in four days! Have you packed yet?”

“Already finished.”

“Well it looks like you’re set for a trip to California!”

As James Bell, sat in his airplane seat, headed to LAX, he thought about something. He thought about Sarah. He hadn’t thought about Sarah in years. He remembered the way her hand felt in his. He remembered the yellow sunflower dress she would always wear. He remembered the car accident that took her away from him. She had been the one for him.

As Kristin pulled up to the gates of King’s Resort, she got a weird feeling in her stomach. Her dad had always told her that she should trust her gut. Thinking about him made her want to think about the funeral, so she stopped. She ignored the feeling and headed into the resort, ready for what was next.

As Zachary drove into the resort, he saw six different people there, three women and three men. Two of the men were well dressed and the other one looked like he had just gone dumpster diving. There was one Latina woman, one woman who had makeup caked all over her face, and one woman who was gorgeous. So far he wasn’t threatened by any of them.

“So, what are your guys’ names? I’m Alex.”

“Carolina.”

“James Bell from James Bell Constuction.”

“Hi! I’m Kristin!”

“Hey, I’m Gerald.”

“Claudia.”

“Zachary.”

“Did all of you guys get a pink letter from a guy named J. Smith?” asked Alex. A bunch of yeses followed the question.

“I think we’re at some weird campground. I thought this was supposed to be a resort, not a girl scout sleepover,” Claudia said, clearly aggravated.

“Is there a front desk because I would love if someone could take my bags to the hotel,” said James while looking around for a hotel.

“I don’t think anyone else is here. So if I were you I would stop looking,” Claudia replied.

“Why don’t we look for the mysterious J. Smith. It will be fun!” gushed Kristin.

The place where they were looked like a deserted campground. There was a massive flagpole where they had all dropped off their cars and a couple of rustic looking cabins. The place smelled like pine cones and mold. On the edge of the camp was a body of water that was a gross, murky brown. From the looks of it, this was not a resort.

“Okay. Why don’t me, goldilocks-”

“My name is Kristin.”

“Why don’t me, Kristin, and loner boy come with me and look on the west half of the camp and the rest of you can look on the east side of the camp,” said Claudia.

“Sounds good with me,” said Gerald.

“Me too,” replied Zach.

Everyone split into their groups. Claudia, Kristin, and Zach were going to search the west side and James, Carolina, Alex, and Gerald would search the east side.

 

…………..

 

“So! Where are you guys from?” Kristin asked.

“New York City,” Claudia answered.

“Louisville,” Zach said.

“Cool! I live in Alaska,” Kristin replied.

“Was anyone else a little creeped out that you can’t find King’s Resort online?” Claudia asked.

“That is a little weird, but there’s probably an explanation,” Zach replied.

“I just thought it was really rustic so they didn’t use computers,” Kristin said. As they searched through the camp, all they saw were cabins and pine trees, but no J. Smith. As they kept walking they saw an old barn.

“That. Smells. Disgusting,” Claudia said with a disgusted look on her face. “I am not going in there.”

“Relax,” Zach said. “It’s probably just really old and has a funky smell because of mold from the wood getting wet.” Zach opened the barn door with a grunt and they all walked in.

“This is kind of gross,” Kristin said, frowning. There was a bunch of wet hay on the ground and the building was pretty much falling apart on the inside. They searched the barn, but found nothing.

“This is a waste of time. I’m starting to think this whole ‘resort’ thing was a scam,” Claudia said.

“Yah. me too. Let’s go find the others,” Zach replied.

 

………….

 

“This trip is weird,” said Gerald.

“I know right! We should have been allowed to bring a guest! I wanted to bring my husband,” Carolina said with a frown.

“This place is really dirty,” James said, clearly appalled.

“C’mon guys. Let’s just pick up the pace and look for this J. Smith guy,” Alex said, motioning the group forward with his arm. As the four of them speed walked, they stumbled upon a cabin that was bigger and much nicer than the others.

“Maybe this is the front desk,” Gerald said. They all walked towards the door and Alex opened and they noticed something weird. This wasn’t the front desk. There were four rows of bunk beds set neatly next to each other with about one foot of space between each bed. Each bed was made with military like precision. There were four blue beds and three pink beds. The blue beds were on the bottom and the pink beds were on the top. Each bed had a pink or blue quilt with your name stitched onto it.

“This is creepy,” Alex said.

“I think it’s nice,” James said with a smile. Suddenly, the door opened again and the rest of the group came in.

“This is freaky,” Claudia said.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” Gerald replied as he walked over to his bed and layed down. “But I’m definitely leaving tomorrow.” A chorus of “me toos” was said back.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. Clear my head,” Zach said.

“Have fun,” Claudia replied. After Zach left, Carolina walked over to the lamp and switched it off.

 

…………..

 

Gregory slowly opened his eyes to the bright daylight. Everyone else was still laying down except for one person. Zachary. The bed appeared to be untouched. Gregory got up and walked over to Carolina’s bed. “Carolina!” he whispered loudly, shaking her, “Caroli-”

“What?!” she yelled. Everyone slowly got up after being woken up by Carolina’s screech.

“It’s Zach. He’s not here. He went on that walk last night and and didn’t come back. Look his bed is untouched.” Everyone turned their head towards the empty bed and gasped.

“He probably decided to leave,” Alex said, rubbing his eyes.

“These beds are really comfortable!” said James.

“Let’s go check and see if his car is there,” Kristin said. Everyone got up and walked towards the door. As they walked towards the cars, Kristin moved herself towards Gregory.

“Do you think he’s dead?” she whispered.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Everyone stopped.

“The car is still there,” Claudia said, eyes wide.

“Everyone stay calm,” James said. “Let’s look by the lake.” Everyone slowly walked towards the lake and gasped.

“Oh my god,” Kristin said. Claudia screamed. There, lying on the ground, was Zach’s dead body.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Claudia said with a groan. Zach’s body was a light shade of blue. He was facedown in the water, his hair flowing with the current. He was caught in seaweed by the shore of the lake.

“What are we going to do?” Alex asked, stunned.

“Like before, everyone stay calm. I’m calling 911,” James said.

“There’s no service,” Kristin replied, eyes wide.

“There’s a gas station a couple of miles away from here. I can drive over there,” Carolina said.

“Good idea. I’ll go with you,” said Gregory.

 

………….

Carolina and Gregory got into Carolina’s car. “I’ll drive,” Carolina said.

“Fine by me,” he answered. Carolina shot onto the road and drove down the driveway, then skidded to a stop. In front of them was an electric fence, turned on.

“What the heck!” Carolina screamed. She got out of the car and picked up a stick. She then threw the stick at the fence, frying the stick. “What are we going to do!?” she wailed. She climbed back into the car and shot back down the driveway.

“Calm down,” Gregory said. “We’ll figure out a way out of here.” When they got back to the cars, they both ran back to the others and told them what had happened. Since they had been gone, no one had touched the body.

“Someone has to turn him over,” Alex said, gulping.

“I’ll do it,” James said while stepping over to the body. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and poked Zach with a stick.

“Stop being chicken and flip him over!” Claudia yelled.

“Okay, okay..” James pulled Zach’s body onto the sandy shore and flipped him over. Zach’s eyes were still open and his face and lips were blue, like cotton candy. “Well, he doesn’t appear to be stabbed anywhere and there’s no bruising on his neck-”

“He probably drowned,” Kristin finished.

“Do you think he killed himself, or was it something else?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“Well, considering the indentation in the back of his head he was probably murdered,” James said. James flipped Zach back onto his stomach and showed them the indentation in the back of Zach’s head. “Zach was probably walking along the shore and someone came up behind him and smashed a rock into his head. They then pushed him into the lake and hoped he would drift away and not come back. Since this has happened, I should probably tell you guys that I’m actually an undercover cop. I thought this was just going to be a nice vacation and that I wouldn’t have to tell anybody that. Oh well,” James finished.

“Well, that’s good luck,” Gregory said.

Excerpt: Wings of Darkness

This story takes place in a magical school where the narrator, Autumn, and her sister, Crystal, are learning magic. There are seven different founders and seven different schools of magic. Autumn is in Mitch’s group, a combat-magic-focused group. Crystal is in Jerome’s group, another group focused on combat magic. When they were choosing weapons, Autumn chose a curved type of axe and Crystal chose two handaxes. This is because their group’s founders were brothers who both use axes. The founders are long dead now, though. Crystal has also found a suspicious character in the garden, a man cloaked in fog. She saw he had wings but only saw the tip, which was white and purple. He threatened to kill her, and she ran away. She is now trying to find out everything she can this person. I hope you enjoy this excerpt.

 

I have spent six months here at the school. My fighting skills have gotten tremendously better. The first few weeks were basically catching me up with everyone else, the rest learning more and more weapons work. I can now fight off three opponents at a time. I got a compliment just the other day from Sandra: “You fight well and with grace. You are one of the few students who can make your fighting look beautiful.”  

It’s not as if I enjoy fighting. Well actually, I take that back. I don’t try to look for fights, but fighting gives me a sense of purpose, like I can actually do something. Crystal, my sister, is doing well too. Her skills have gotten better, and she seems to have found her place here. I wasn’t sure if she was going to be ok here, but now she seems to know what she is doing. I am definitely a better fighter than her though. She tends to hold back, even now.

I have discovered other things about the school as well. Like a statue room, with giant stone statues of all the founders, or a secret passage that looks suspiciously like it was hollowed out by water leading to the adults quarters. I know the school like the back of my hand now and can get from the dorms to the garden in the dark.

And I have not forgotten about the angel guy in the garden either. I have not found out anything else about him, and in my free time have been scouring the library for anything that might have something to do with him. I am here now, looking through the shelves. I haven’t found anything yet, but I won’t give up hope. I pull an old, dusty book off the shell. It dislodges cobwebs, and dust bunnies float in the air. A Guide to the Monsters of the Mythical Realms. This might be helpful. I take it over to a table. It is heavy. I plop it down on the table and flip it open. Even more dust floats in the air now, as I inspect the pages. They are yellow with age, and I have to be very careful with them. I feel like they could crumble in my hands.

 

I begin to read. Not really looking for anything in particular, I flip through the pages. One catches my eye. ‘Soulkeepers’ it reads at the top. There is a folded scrap piece of paper at this page, and I set it aside. Probably someone’s long-forgotten bookmark. When I look at what the paper was covering, I gasp in astonishment. It is a dark outline of a man with feathered wings. It looks like it was drawn hastily, with coal or some type of dark chalk. As I read the given information, my eyes widen.  

 

Soulkeepers are very rare. They are not human but once were. They are reincarnations of powerful beings that have died. They can be created in two ways. One, if enough of free flowing magic settles over the dead person and then creates a physical form. Two, if a very powerful magic user has an item that is close to the person then uses it to summon the Soulkeeper.

Soulkeepers are beings of immense power and are not to be trifled with. Most of the time the summoner will lose control of the soulkeeper, and the servant will turn on its master. If you see one of these beings, stay away. They are dangerous and unpredictable.               

       

That is what that thing in the garden was! A Soulkeeper. At least now I know what it was. I look back, but that is all the book says about Soulkeepers. I wonder if there are any other books on Soulkeepers, but when I check, there are none. Still, this is a little more to go on. I walk back to put the book away, and my eyes fall on the sheet of paper. I don’t know if it’s worth investigating, but I unfold it. It reads: if you want to know more about this subject, visit the catacombs. This school has catacombs? I know it has a lot of secrets, but an underground chamber? That’s going a bit far, don’t you think? Anyway, I know what I’m doing tonight.

 

I creep down the stairs to the basement, my hand trailing on the damp wall. The stairs are cracked and uneven in some places. I can see this by the light of my axe, which is glowing a bright blue. I’m not supposed to be out after curfew, but this is important. I continue down into the darkness then abruptly stop as I see what I am looking at. A small, stone room with a couple of moldy boxes in the corner. There is literally nowhere to go from here. I can’t just give up though. I walk over to the back wall and crouch down, looking for any clues to a secret passage or a hidden room. In the very corner there are some runes of a language I don’t understand, but when I reach down to touch them, they glow a bright green. The wall slides back to reveal a hidden passageway, leading downward into the darkness. I can tell that no one has been here for a while, maybe even years. I take a deep breath and head down. The tunnel is only slightly slanted downward, but it is slick with moisture. I take my time, but all my instincts are telling me this is it, the day I learn what I want to know. After minutes of walking down the hallway I come out into a bigger passageway. This one has a thin sheen of water on the floor, and as I step into it, my shoes get soaked. At first I just walk around, looking at things. There are many side passages, and the ceiling is high, receding into darkness. The shadows seems to press in on me, and I will my axe to glow a bit brighter. I slog down the tunnel, the water getting deeper and deeper till it reaches my hips. Just when I am beginning to think this is probably a waste of time, I hear it. A soft sound at first, but it gets louder as it gets nearer. The sound of someone singing. And… the sound of something dragging on the ground. The singing is hard and rough, even the voice seems like it’s crippled by old age. At first I can’t make out the words but then they become clear.

“One body, two bodies, three bodies, four. One more body makes the fire roar. One wing, two wings, fly to the sky. When we fall, we will cry”   

It is more of a chant than a song and a creepy one at that. A figure comes walking out of the darkness and into my axe’s light. He shrinks away, as though the light has burned him, but I’ve seen enough. His clothes are dark and probably some type of leather. He has long black hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in months. His eyes are that glowing white that I saw the night in the garden. Behind him droops a single raven-black wing, dragging across the ground.

“Hissss… Why did you come here? No one comes here anymore.”

“I want to know about Soulkeepers. I read somewhere that going down here could help me.”

“Ahh. You want to know about our kind? You have come to the right place. But why should I tell you what I know?”

“I think, about six months ago, I saw one of your kind. I want to know if they are any threat to the school above us.”

“The school? Yes, of course, they would have built that. Why should I betray the secrets of my kind to you? He shakes his head as if he’s dislodging something. Oh, what does it matter anymore? They have all forgotten me anyway. What do you wish to know?”

“Do you know what a Soulkeeper would want with humans? And where do Soulkeepers usually live?”

“Soulkeepers are beings not unlike demigods. They have immense power and tend not to involve humans in their matters unless they have some use for humans. They have have far greater life spans than humans, so tend to think of humans as insignificant creatures. I am not able to tell you where we reside, because we have all taken an oath to never speak of it to anyone but ourselves.”

“You are a Soulkeeper, then?”

“Yes. Will that be all?”

“May I ask why you only have one wing?”

“Nosey one, aren’t you.  I do not wish to speak of such matters with one of your race. I have already said too much. You will go now.” He says it like a statement, something that will not be argued over. He is already walking out of the light, back down the hallway.

I turn to leave, but then a thought strikes me. “Hey, wait!”

He turns back around so I can see one of his glowing eyes.

“What type of beings come back to life as Soulkeepers?” I ask.

“Any ones that are powerful. Like great magic users or important beings such as ones that changed the timeline of the magical world.”

As I walk back to my room, I begin to think. I have an idea of what might be happening. When I get back into bed, my thoughts are already churning. What if, what if, what if. I don’t know if I’m right or not, but I have a suspicion.

What if the founders of the school are coming back as Soulkeepers?

 

***

 

Now, I decide, is the time to share this with someone. I should have probably gone to a teacher first, but I find myself walking down the hall to Crystal’s room. When I get there, she opens up immediately and we sit down on the bed together. Then I tell her everything. The night in the garden, the book that I found, and last night’s journey to the catacombs. I thought she would be angry with me for not coming to her sooner, but she says she would have done the same thing in my situation. After class that day we decide to walk in the garden together. It is a peaceful thing, just me and her. We don’t talk, just enjoying the scenery. Slowly, ever so slowly, our hands creep together. It feels good to have a sister, someone to tell you it will always be alright.

“I never want to leave you. Ever,” she whispers in my ear. And that’s when I hear it.

 

Whoosh, whoosh. Flap, flap.

Thoom!

 

I remember that sound. Of course I do. “Get down!” I whisper. “Into the bushes. Now!” I crouch down, pulling Crystal behind me.

We reached the plants and push our way in, ignoring the branches that try to hold us back. Footsteps come on the gravel path, and from inside the leaves, I spot four pairs of feet. Whoever it is stopped. They begin to talk to each other in those deep, inhuman voices.

“We are here, now what?” says a first voice  

“We do as master told us,” says a second voice.

“Must we? Can’t we have some fun first?” says a third voice.

“We will do as we were ordered,” says the second voice.

“Aw, come on, you know you want to just as much as we do,” says the third voice.

“We will do what we came to do, which means we are going to destroy-”

“Comrades, I don’t believe our conversation is private.” A fourth voice cuts into the mix.

They all go silent. I hold my breath, willing Crystal to do the same. All at once, four clawed hands reach into our hiding place and pull us out. Lying on the ground next to Crystal, I look up to see four people. The one I’m drawn to first has familiar white and purple feathered wings. I realize now that the glowing green thing on his head is a pair headphones, and I recognize Ty. He has purple claws and a long purple tail that ends in a brown tuft of hair. That’s who that was the first night. The next one is wearing a blue space suit with a blue-and-gold helmet. That must be Jason. His claws are also purple, his wings are metallic blue. His tail also is made of blue metal, and at the end is a sharp, rugged blade that looks very dangerous and scary.  The next two I recognize almost immediately. One wears jeans, a white shirt, and over that a red-and-black hoodie. His wings are purple and are more like a bat’s than an angel’s. His tail is purple and spiked, and at the end is a arrow-like tip made for stabbing. Mitch. The next one is a very fluffy person. Jerome has brown feathered wings, and the tips are gray. He wears no clothes but is so furry he really doesn’t need any. His tail is a mass of fur and drags on the ground behind him, picking up twigs, leaves, and dirt from the ground. They all have those white, pupiless, glowing eyes and all standing about nine feet. Four Soulkeepers. Here! I’m right about the founders coming back as Soulkeepers, but I don’t want to find out like this, sprawled on the ground in front of them.  

“Well, well, what do we have here?” asks Mitch.

“That’s you!” I stutter, pointing at Ty.

“Have you met before, Ty?” asks Mitch, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yes, on my first scouting mission. She bumped into me. I decided to spare her puny life.” The look he gives me tells me not to talk about what he said to me.

“Well, what do we do with them?” asks Jerome. “We could kill them,” he says it so simply, like he’s suggesting someone make dinner.

“No, I have a better idea,” says MItch. “Jason, go do what we came here to do.”

“But-”

“Who is the leader of this mission again?” Mitch’s voice has gone quiet.

“Fine.” Jason flies off, his wings making metallic flapping sounds.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you two. Ty, take her. Make sure she doesn’t get away.” He walks over and drags me to the side of the path, holding me tight with his claws so I can’t even squirm. He also picks up my weapon and, holding it, turns to Mitch.

“Shall I snap this useless piece of metal?” he asks.

“No, leave it for now,” Mitch replies. Then he turns to Crystal and gives her the two axes she dropped. “Get up.”

Crystal staggers to her feet.

“Now, we fight.”

Crystal readies herself, but I can see the fear in her eyes. She doesn’t want to fight.

“Let me fight instead!” I cry. I would do anything to save her. None of them reply, however. Jerome has stepped back, giving Mitch and Crystal room to fight. In desperation, Crystal strikes the first blow. Mitch knocks her aside as though he’s swatting a fly. To her credit, she gets up almost immediately, but this time Mitch is on the offensive, his axe swinging down. The axe is so big and looks very dangerous. It has one blade one one side, but on the other it has a spear-like point made for stabbing. The skills we learned did not go to waste, however, and Crystal is holding her own. A feeling of helplessness wells up inside on me. I want to do anything I can to help, but I can’t get free, no matter how much I struggle. Crystal is losing ground now, being pushed back toward the walls of the school. I try to warn her, but Ty clamps one of his clawed hands around my mouth before I can say anything.

Then Mitch’s axe spins through the air, so fast I can’t follow it, and stabs Crystal with the spear-like part. Ty has taken his hand away now, and I scream “No!”

Crystal is lying on the ground but starts to get up again. I sigh with relief, but it is short lived as Mitch raises his axe. He cuts down, but Crystal manages to avoid that swing. She doesn’t see the back swing, though, and Mitch brings his axe back up, cutting diagonally across her body.

“No!” I squirm out of Ty’s grip and run over to Crystal. Blood has pooled on the ground around her. I should be angry. I should be furious. But I only feel a deep sadness. The sadness has my heart in its grasp and is rending it in two. I crouch down beside her, taking her head in my hands. Her breathing is fast and shallow. “Autumn?” she says. Her voice is faint and weak.

“Shh. I’m here now. It’s ok.” Even as I say this, I know it is a lie. There is too much blood, flowing from her too fast.

“Did I do good?” she asks, her voice even fainter.

“Yes, yes of course you did,” I murmur. Anything to comfort her. The world has grown smaller, it is only her and me. Everything else is a blur. I feel the tears stream down my face but do nothing to wipe them away. I hug Crystal close to me, and I can hear her heartbeats getting shallower and shallower.

She whispers in my ear, “Carry me in your heart. Never forget me. Live for me.” Then she slumps down on the ground, her last words echoing in my mind.

 

“No, Crystal, I will never forget you. Ever.”

 

I look up, at the three Soulkeepers, and sadness turns to anger in my heart. A burning, roaring fire that will not stop till all of them are dead.

“That was the best thing i’ve seen in a while, but that girl is about to get dangerous,” says Jerome.

“Shall we leave? Jason must be almost finished,” Ty says.

“None of you are going anywhere,” I say. My vision is red rimmed, and the anger burning inside of me is ready to explode.

“A silly human like you has no right to order us around. We will go where we like,” MItch says. The flapping of wings herald the approach of Jason.

“It is done,” he says.

And that is when I lose my patience. I fly at them, no matter what the odds I’m going to kill them. For Crystal. Mitch laughs and grabs me in a chokehold, holding me above the ground.

“No human can ever hope to challenge us. I hope you will realize this, in the days to come.” At the surprised look on my face he chuckles. “You thought we would kill you? Oh no, it is a much better punishment to leave you alive, to think about what we have done for the rest of your pathetic life.”

 

He drops me on the ground, then as one, the Soulkeepers lift their wings and spiral up to the sky.

Hanging By A Thread (first four chapters)

“X marks the spot,” the little girl whispered. She brushed her long braids behind her shoulders and adjusted into a more comfortable position on the cold, stone floor. “You will find the answer where the key lies,” she told her treasured doll, stroking the red, silk dress she had recently dressed it in. She moved another doll, as if it was speaking.

“Now, be off. And don’t get lost!” Then she stood up, tiptoed down the wooden stairs, and quietly opened the front door.

“Careful, you don’t know if this is the right decision,” a voice said behind the little girl. She whirled around, but she could not see anyone. She sighed. It was starting again. She had to hurry or she knew what was going to happen to her. The girl slipped outside, into the wet grass, and carefully shut the door. She raced across the dark field, holding her precious doll to her. The girl ran to her mother’s prized garden, and picking up a shovel that lay on the ground, began to scoop up the fresh dirt. A while later, a heaping pile of dirt sat in the dark night. She put the doll in the ground, tucking a small black key in the doll’s dress which she received from her pocket. She poured the dirt on the doll, refilling the hole.

“Goodbye,” the girl whispered. “And good luck.” She turned around without looking back, and hurried back to the stone house as golden light poured from the sky. It was finally dawn. She had made it in time.

 

*——————–.~.———————*

 

CHAPTER 1:

 

She races down the stone steps, dragging the trunk behind her. Rain pours down on her and it seems as if it’s swallowing her whole. The girl swings the trunk in front of her, and it bangs her hard in the leg. She cries out in alarm, as the pain shoots up her leg.

“Hurry!” Her dad calls from across the lawn. She squints, but can’t see him through the currents of rain. She tries to follow his voice, but ends up tripping on something and landing in the wet grass on her back. She lies there for a few seconds, not trying to get up. Suddenly someone grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet. She winces in pain, as she is dragged to the car. The girl begins to open the passenger door, but her dad glares at her.

“Back,” he growls. She sighs, closes the front door and angrily opens the back door. She slides in, pushing her trunk under the seat.

“What the heck took you so long?” her dad yells at her, pulling out of the drive way. The girl cringes.

“It was them again. Dad, they were torturing me again. They are coming back to punish me.” She could see her dad rolling his eyes through the mirror.

“Kid, how many stinkin times do I have to tell you that ‘THEY’ ARE NOT REAL.” He pounds his fist on the steering wheel. The girl feels tears coming up to her eyes.

Do not cry. Do not cry, she thinks.

“And please do not, I repeat, do not, ask me why I am sending you away,” he says. She slinks back into the seat.

“Fine. But still.” He turns, not stopping in time, and passing a red light. He growls and screams in frustration. The girl covers her ears.

 

Hours later the car turns into a moss covered alley, almost hidden because of all the dead vegetation. The car drives up to a rusty metal gate. The girl’s dad leans out of the car window and presses a small red button on the gate. After a while, a man about her dad’s age walks over to the gate from the other side and unlocks it for them. She groans. It’s Fatais. He moves to the side as they drive through, pulling up in front of the stone mansion. The girl slowly climbs out of the car, and looks up and shudders. This is not a friendly looking place. It’s dark and gloomy and there are almost almost no windows. This will be a long two months for the girl.

 

But who is this girl with no name?

Who can see things no one else can?

Who feels so alone in this world?

As if she is not understood…

 

That girl is me.

 

CHAPTER 2:

RED

December 7th 5:25 p.m.

“Your room is this way,” Fatias says, leading me up the rickety, wooden stairs. I don’t understand why Fatias always has to show me to where I will be staying. I have been here many times. It is the place where my father has always sent me when he wants to get away from me.

I unpack my trunk, and go in the bathroom to wash up after the long ride. I stare at my reflection in the cracked, gray mirror. My face looks watery and ghostly in the pale light of the bathroom. My dark auburn hair is matted and greasy, sticking to my scalp. My slanted gray eyes are foggy and I have dark circles underneath them. My skin looks gooey and sweaty. And my freckles look pale and faded as well.

Sighing, I pull the shower curtain open, and peel off my sweaty clothes. I climb into the shower, wincing as the icy cold water runs down my bare skin.

Minutes later I climb out, pulling a dirty towel from the hanger and wrapping it around my body. I walk back into my room, when there is a knock at my door. I jump, and yell, “Hold on one second!” I quickly pull out some jeans and a black t-shirt from my dresser drawer, and put them on. I dry my hair, and put it up into a messy ponytail, water uncomfortably dripping down my back.

I open the door, and someone tumbles in. I help them stand up. It’s a boy. Kael. Fatias’ son. I groan. “What do you want, Kael? As you can see I’m busy.”

He snorts. “Doing what?”

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. You are so annoying. Can’t you mind your own business?” I plop down on my bed. “So, what do you want?” I repeat.

He shrugs. “I dunno. Just wanted to say hi and to make sure you got here safely. I mean you are gonna be here for two months… and I’ll be here you know, that entire time!” I lay back on the bed.

“Sadly. Why couldn’t my Grandmother hire someone with a kid LESS annoying?” I hear him sit down on the bed beside me.

“No idea. Us Marek’s have been the gatekeepers in your family for almost a hundred years.”

I sit up. “So? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

I walk towards the door and he follows. I gesture for him to get out, and as soon as he walks past my door frame, I shut the door in his face and lock it. As soon as I hear him walk down the hall, I go back and sit on my bed. Now I feel sort of bad. Yes, he is super annoying, but I’m gonna be here for two months straight. I am gonna need some company. I sigh and slowly slunk to my door, and open it. “Kael?” I call.   

 

CHAPTER 3: December 7th 10:00 p.m.

“The game is simple,” Kael says, sitting across from me at the table. “You roll the die, and whatever you get, that’s how far you move your piece. Then, whatever you land on you have to do.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Sounds fun… and really boring,” I say, standing up and stretching my legs. “Well, tonight was ‘fun,’ but I really need some sleep. Tomorrow I’m going out to town.”

I start up the stairs, but Kael calls to me, “Cool, but lately there have been some reported murders in town, you know. If you get hurt, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I pause on the stairs, and close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Slowly, I turn around. “Fine, fine. I know what you’re doing. You want to protect me. Don’t you? You don’t think that I will be okay on my own. But I’m fifteen years old.” Kael rolls his eyes. “God, I’m seriously not kidding. Ask anyone. But I’m coming.” I whirl around and stomp up the stairs to my room.

Ugh. Curse my luck.

 

CHAPTER 4:  December 8th, 4:30 a.m

 

I can’t sleep. I roll around, over and over. I glance at the clock by my bed. 4:30 a.m. I roll onto my back, and try to shut my eyes. But I can’t sleep.

I can hear them. I can hear their whispers. The sound of them laughing. Plotting their next kill. Their revenge.

I suddenly sit up in bed and turn on the light. A face stares down at me. “Jabari,” I whisper. Two more faces appear. “Bexley? Eladora? How did you find me here? I’m hours and hours away from home.” Jabari smirks. “Girl, we can find you wherever you are.”

Bexley perches on my bed frame. “Wherever,” she repeats. Eladora floats up. “You know you can never get away from us. We are always there.”

“Always!” Bexley exclaims, laughing. Eladora elbows her in the stomach.

“Shut it,” Jabari whispers. I scoot my legs up to my chest. “Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper. “Please.”

Jabari looks down at me, his cold blue eyes digging into me, like a dagger. I cover my face. “We know what you’ve been doing,” he says. He looks at Eladora, as if cueing her. She swoops down, and pulls out my worn, leather journal from beneath my mattress. She fluently opens to a page. “December 6th. They are back. I can feel it. I don’t understand why they can’t just stay at their home. Where do they live anyway? Why do they torture me? Why am I the only person who can see them? So many questions. No answers. I just want them to go. To disappear. Why, why, why, WHY, WHY? Help me, someone. I need help soon. I wish there were others like me. I wish my dad would understand. I wish my mother was still around. I just want to have a normal life. I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see the fairies.”

 

*——————–.~.———————*

ABJ

Joe stumbled into the alleyway. His head was pounding, he could barely form a conscious thought. His vision blurred and tunnelled, focusing on only the cowering man in front of him.

“Joe- Joe, stop-” Billy shakily commanded, panicking. Joe ignored him. He didn’t even register Billy had said anything. He slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out something long and shiny.

Billy’s already scared expression changed to terrified as he took in the six inch long hunting knife in Joe’s tightly clenched fist. He began to whimper pathetically, pleading for his life. Joe ignored him once again. Before Billy could even attempt to escape, Joe was in front of him, holding the serrated blade at the ready.

Joe stared at Billy for a fraction of a second. There was no dramatic speech, no yelling, no crying on either end. Billy was frozen still, and Joe simply said one word in a flat, monotone voice.

“Die.”

The blade flashed and buried itself deep inside Billy’s chest. He screamed, the sound echoing off the walls of the empty alleyway. Joe turned and walked away without looking back, leaving the knife, the growing pool of blood, and the slowly dying body of his once best friend.

Billy’s body had gone numb, and he could feel his life force draining away, his heartbeat slowing, his vision dimming. Through his half-closed eyes, he made out the figure of someone previously unnoticed detaching from the shadows and running over to his mutilated body. He heard, rather than saw, the pitter-patter of her sneakers hitting the pavement. He tasted her salty tears on his face as she sobbed piteously like a newborn baby taken away from his mother. And he felt her arms around him, holding him tightly as his last breath left him, and Allison collapsed over a lifeless corpse.

Underground

Part 1:

The waves greeted the shore with a crash

They pulled away

They crashed

They pulled away

 

The heated rays of light find my skin

And glows down upon me

And when I look up at the magnificent ball of light,

It warms my face and closes my eyes leaving light

Dancing in my vision

 

I let my arms float to my side

Weightless due to the gentle breeze

I close my eyes once more

And imagine that I am a bird

Soaring aimlessly through the sky

Only attached to the ground by

The cool ocean crashing

Against my ankles

Burying my feet in the moist sand

 

The waves soaked my feet and ankles

Changing the navy blue on my skirt to black

Spraying the ocean mist in my eyes

 

As the breeze turns from gentle to powerful

I lean against it

And rely on it to hold me up

 

The calming neverending sound of the waves crash on the shore

The dark blue water reflects my personality

Mysterious

Dark

With no light shining through

The water tries to pull my toes in as the uneven sand washes over my feet

The smell of saltwater lingers in the air

And gusts of wind dry my tongue as bits of salt fall in

It tastes so familiar

Because it tastes like tears

 

The jagged rocks bounce off my feet

Cut through the sand

Twist through the water

Land mid-twist into the sand

While others got dragged and pulled

Back into the deep blue

 

The sand sticks to my feet when I step out of the ocean range

And the rocks that were once in the ocean pricked my feet

My feet slipped into my worn shoes

And they dragged as I got farther from the water

 

I passed the rusting railing and shell covered steps

I passed the old playground with the fading color

I passed the bike rack which no one has ever used

 

I got to the area that no one ever sees

I got to the area that is easily missed

I got to the area where if you look back it isn’t there any more

 

Inside is a grassy area

Where a giant tree is growing in the center

One of those trees with beautiful flowers in the spring

Plenty of colorful leaves in the fall

Manages to stay unique in the winter

 

Inside is a colorful area

Where flowers looked as if someone had taken the seeds in their hand

And threw them about carelessly

That are purple and blue in the spring

Yellow and orange in the fall

Becoming bright pink and white before dropping their seeds and dying out

Leaving the next generation to take over the area

 

My hand lays on the bark

My fingers tracing over the patterns

My palm sticky against the cool wood

My breath sucked away

Again

 

I stare at the rock off to the side of the area

That leads me away from my freedom

Into the captivity of the place

Away from my happiness

Into my sorrow

 

My watch ticks without a stop

Continuing the change of the numbers

Dragging me closer to reality

Ticking

Ticking

Ticking

 

One final look around marks my goodbye

My promise to return

My hatred to leave

 

My hand leaves the cool bark

My fingers abandon the jagged pattern

My breath returns with a jolt

 

I remove the smaller rocks behind the bigger one

Kneel down to duck under the larger rock

That separates fantasy from reality

 

My watch beeps

5 minutes

A look of horror replaces my longing

4 minutes

Carefully the small rocks are replaced

3 minutes

Running as quickly as I can

2 minutes

The only door with no security cameras doesn’t open

1 minute

Footsteps are approaching

30 seconds

Ducking beneath the window to remain unseen

15 seconds

“Avia, come with me,”

No more time

 

Part 2:

“Why were you outside?” he questioned

I remain silent

“I asked you a question!” he demanded

No answer

“Fine, I’ll call your parents then,” he said calmly

“No!” I jumped up

“Then why were you outside?” he roared.

“It was beautiful,” I whispered

 

He had laughed

I had held back angry tears

He had given out punishments

I had taken them

 

Cleaning the cafeteria

Erasing pencil markings off desks

The usual

 

My roommate was angry of course

“Why did you not take me with you?” she raged.

My clothes stank of cafeteria food

My fingers covered in graphite

And my friend was angry that she wasn’t invited

 

I’ll tell you about my roommate

Her name is Saphina

The stringy dirty-blond hair is always in a bun or braid

The pale blue eyes tell you a story words could not

The cherry red lips only smile for me

 

The place we are confined in is considered a school

The name sewn on to our uniforms is Taylor’s Institute for Troubled Girls

The names they call us are nothing close to reality

If I was troubled, then they were kind

 

None of the girls who went to Taylor’s Institute for Troubled Girls are troubled

They are simply misunderstood

They are no more than unwanted

They are seen as clearly as a shadow in the night

 

In the morning 104 alarms ring

In the morning 104 uniforms are put on

In the morning 104 girls are in the newly clean cafeteria

In the morning 104 girls plug their noses as they shove food into their skinny bodies

In the morning 104 girls are herded to class

In the morning 104 girls wish that they were understood and wanted

In the morning 104 wishes aren’t fulfilled

 

Classes are dull

Eyelids droop

The monotone continues

Minds wander

 

The concrete cube only changes for the black board and flimsy door

The marks on the blackboard only smudged

Never fully erased

 

Rows and columns of desks

Arranged so no one can talk to each other without the teacher noticing

Stiff bodies from stiff chairs

Knees cramping from staying in the same position

 

Dates of starts and ends of famous wars sprawl on the board

Names of heroes and villains bounced off the walls

Attention of girls slipping

Sliding

Into their own world

 

No hands are raised

No questions are asked

No tone changes

No attention returns

 

The bell brings the girls back to earth

Homework passed out

No one knowing any of the content

 

During lunch is the only time the girls ever talk in a teacher’s presence

Everyone seems to be the same in there

But none of us are friends

We are all family

 

Saphina and I do our homework together in the evening

Our pencils only stubs

Erasers covered in pencil markings

 

Curfew is 9 p.m

Which is the time the history teacher scouts the hallway for wandering girls

Footsteps echoing throughout the empty hall

Until finally they die away

Which is when I poke my head out the door

 

No one is in the hall except me

Which is confirmed by the history teacher’s door closing in the distance

I tip-toe two doors down

Which was left slightly open

I creep inside

No noise emitted

 

I crawl through the tall dry grass

Avoiding the view of the headmasters window

Quietly and silently

 

One by one the rocks are moved

Not daring to stand up

Slithering through the giant rock

Turning halfway through to replace the rocks

 

The area with the beautiful flowers is displayed in front of me

The area with the magnificent tree is proudly standing

My barefeet jog to the flowing greens that mark the beach

 

As soon as I step away from the flowing greens

The familiar sand is warm against my feet

I walk over to the steps and look at the pathway

Someone touches my arm

“Thanks,” she whispers

Soon they are only a shadow in the night

 

Creeping back to the school

On my hands and knees

Too dark to see too far ahead but light enough to see where I was going

 

The window right next to my door room is propped open

I grab the bar on the wall to pull myself in

And sneak into my dorm where Saphina is waiting

To hear the adventurous tale

 

In the morning 103 alarms ring

In the morning 103 uniforms are put on

In the morning 103 girls whisper in the cafeteria

In the morning 103 girls plug their noses as they shove food into their skinny bodies

In the morning 103 girls are herded to class

In the morning 103 girls wish that they were understood and wanted

In the morning 103 wishes aren’t fulfilled

 

None of the teachers notice

They never do

They never take attendance

And few learn our names

They are there to speak

We are there to listen

 

The monotone never stops

The grey walls next to the grey desks

With the grey door and the once black now grey chalkboard

You have to touch everything with caution in this prison

For the fear of it falling apart

The smell of chalk mixed with boredom and misery fills the air

The taste of breakfast or lunch still lingers bringing the taste of vomit as well

The taste of blood as tongues and cheeks and lips are bit

To prevent getting up

And leaving

For we have no purpose here

Or anywhere

 

In history class I sit in front of where she should be

The empty desk hidden amongst the others

My feet fidgeting hoping the empty desk wouldn’t be noticed

The clock ticks slowly

The lecture on who-knows-what continues

Trying to make my skinny body wider

Homework is being explained

Trying to look taller than my almost-five-feet self

For a fraction of a second no one talks

The bell rings

We’re freed

I succeeded

 

Part 3:

Tomorrow is Spring break

It’s when we leave the hatred of our school

And greet the hatred of our homes

 

There’s a train that brings us from and to the school

Stops at each one of our houses

Making the trip about two hours long

 

My house is the third to last

One of the farthest away

But still in the same state

One by one girls are dropped off to their houses

None of their parents are there to greet them

 

When the train screeches to a halt near my backyard

I take my bags from the upper shelf

Sling my backpack over one shoulder

And my suitcase in hand

I push open the doors

To find a greyed sky

Growing old

 

I enter a temporarily abandoned house

And walk up the perfectly polish stairs to what is considered my room

I lay on my couch and pull my laptop out of my backpack

Open it to my email and begin to type

One by one they reply

My proposal is sent to the whole school

None disagree

 

I go downstairs for a snack

My house rings with silence

The colorful colors inside looks dull and grey

It smell of cleaner and supposedly perfection burns inside my nose

Everything is perfectly smooth and every corner is perfectly sharp

My tongue tingles from the emptiness of the air

From the loss of love that my mother had brought

Now buried underground

 

I go back upstairs to eat my snack

And wait

I wait for something to happen

I wait

I will continue to wait just like I always have

Because nothing seems to happen

 

Then

The door opens and closes

The only sound audible is footsteps

A coat being hung up

Shoes being taken off

A bag being put down

My father is home

 

He doesn’t come to see me

He should know I’m here

Then again, it’s him

 

An hour later the door opens again

This time the footsteps join the sound of clicking footsteps

Clicking footsteps I’ve never heard before

Keys jingle

A phone rings

Something big has happened while I was gone

 

I walk downstairs from my room carefully

Trying not to make any sound

I peer over the railing to see this new stranger

 

Her hair is dyed blonde

Her eyes are brown

Her v-neck comes down a bit more than they usually do

Her skirt is so tight, I think it may burst

 

Socks cover my feet, muffling my footsteps

My dull brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail

I walk into the kitchen where my father is talking to the stranger

For two minutes they don’t see me standing in the shadows

It’s as if I was one of them

 

“Avia,” my father said, nodding in my direction

The stranger looked startled that there was another person in the house

I stared at her

My father sighed

“Avia, this is my wife,” my father said

 

I wasn’t surprised that my father had remarried

I wasn’t surprised that she looked like that

That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it

 

My father didn’t tell me that he got remarried

He didn’t tell me that there would be another person living in my house

To him I was a shadow

Nothing more than part of the real image

This is what the teachers were supposed to see me as, not my own father

There were so many emotions wrapped up into one at that moment

I guess you could call me disappointed

 

At dinner, we ate together

We slept in the same house

When they were in the pool I was outside

He never talked to me

He never called my name

He never acknowledged my presence

 

I was third to be picked up on the train

We all had the option to put our things in the back car

When the train stopped for me both the girls came out to help me with my bag

I didn’t need the help

It was all part of the plan

 

By the time we were at the second to last stop

Most of the girls were no where to be seen

The conductor couldn’t see us

Much less wanted to anyway

At the last stop I went to ‘help’ the girl with her bag

And went to join the other 101 girls

 

When we arrived at school to conductor stopped

He didn’t come see if we were getting out or not

After 15 minutes of us

Holding our breaths and clutching each other the train drove away

With us in it

Doll House

My body was frozen, the soft chair seemed to envelope my porcelain limbs. I waited a bit, for the dull thump and the darkness that signalled The Girl was preparing for bed. I was always hesitant in moving, for one time she had come back and caught Jeffrey walking.

Sally was the first to move, she creaked and stuttered as she swung her legs onto the wooden floor. Then, Frankie was next. Nobody moved fast, after a long day of sitting stiff and being moved from table to kitchen to bed, we were all sore. The house was illuminated with light and a silhouette moved across the wall, Mother. There was heated conversation between her and Father (I was not surprised), but finally the light was extinguished and the house was silent again.

Mother and Father loved to fight, and hated to love each other. Whenever Mother didn’t like the furniture, Father did. Whenever Father wanted family time, Mother had a headache. It went on like this, sometimes quiet, sometimes the shouting found their way to my room. Playing with me.

Days passed, then weeks, then months, and finally the house was never touched by The Girl. We watched her grow, she never knew we were there. I guess it was fine like that, until it wasn’t.

There was no school, The Girl stayed home. She had a friend over. Her mother came in, words were exchanged and the mother walked toward the house. It was like an earthquake, then a tornado. The house was lifted skyward, we all fell. A crash, a scream. Plates falling from shelves, books sliding down the hallways. A rough thud and then blinding light slanted through the windows. No one moved, then I did. Outside there was green and gray and moving boxes and more people. Suddenly, the house was opened and a hand reached in, sweeping us into darkness.

It felt like eternity before I could see again, but when I did I wanted to be blind. I was alone, the walls painted pink, as was the floor and furniture. Everything was clean, everything was new. That night I fell asleep to the sound of…nothing, no bickering about the worn out sofa or the wobbly chairs. I was never really interested in moving into a new house, I guess I just wanted a new set of furniture.

Cornflower Blue

Cornflower Blue are waters in the well

And green and glowing like an ocean swell

Heart of friendship long away

One has left and one must stay.

Fields and rippling streams of ice

Beautiful but it has a price

Cornflower Blue stains a midnight sky

Where silver light glows, where night birds fly.

Nostalgia staining memories dark

Rainbows dying in their blazing arc

Heavy is air that touches grief

Sorrow stealing like a thief

Rivers of tears from soulbound scars

Cornflower Blue snakes through the stars.

Longing for the friend she lost

She leaves her home at first white frost

Far from anything she knows

Singing the cold wind as it blows

Though storm wolves howl and fast they lope

Cornflower Blue will give her hope.

If Time Stopped

If time stopped, would the Earth keep spinning? Would the planets orbit the sun, turning their nights into days? Would time only freeze for us, down on our lonely little planet? Would the universe keep moving?

If time stopped, we would have forever. We would spend eternity together, thinking about all that we might have done. Wondering what would have changed if we had lived differently. Pondering the infinite possibilities of everyone, and everything. All the places we might have been, all the things we might have seen.

If time stopped, we would lose our minds. We would waste each day, clinging desperately to our last shred of sanity, all the while thinking of the what-ifs, the might-haves. Frozen in our little bubble of infinity, never to move again. Never to grow old, explore, or create. Never to see new life. Never to gain wisdom. Never to fulfill a dream. Never to wish upon a star. Never to love, cry, laugh, smile, frown. Never to scream, sing, dance, spaz. Never to know a new story. Just the same story, repeated countless times.

If time stopped, we would forget ourselves. Our souls would be lost, our hearts faded, our minds useless.

If time stopped, there would be no point to life.

Enjoy it while you can.

 

No Good News Today

The scattered newspapers were as smooth as silk.

No good news today.

My window caught the light in bends of the rainbow.

No good news today.

I ate and wandered through the kingdom of my mind.

No good news today.

The sun was blotted out by hazy, forgotten dreams.

No good news today.

One day a giant force will pursue truth.

No good news today.

A heavy drumbeat rules my life.

No good news today.

The staccato flute of hope plays pianissimo.

No good news today.

My heart felt as wet as rain.

No good news today.

NFL Playoff Predictions

This year the Super Bowl was the most watched event on American television ever. The same thing happened last year and the year before that. On top of that, football is the most popular sport to bet on. This makes for an eager mass of football-lovers wishing for a crystal ball that would see into the 2016 NFL playoffs. Fear not, dear gamblers, for I am hear to alleviate your worries with probably the best NFL playoff predictions you’re ever going to get.

 

Teams Making It

Out of the 32 teams in the NFL, only 12 will make it to the playoffs. 4 divisional champions from each league and 2 wild card teams who make it in too. The following are my predictions and a short blurb about why.

 

AFC EAST:

Miami Dolphins

New York Jets

Buffalo Bills

New England Patriots

 

Divisional Champion: Patriots

The patriots have Tom Brady and LeGarrette Blount and Malcolm Butler. Enough said.

Seed: 1

 

AFC NORTH:

Cincinnati Bengals

Pittsburgh Steelers

Cleveland Browns

Baltimore Ravens

 

Divisional Champion: Steelers

The Steelers have a good offense with Ben Roethlisberger and Antonio Brown and they shouldn’t have a problem locking up a good seed.

Seed: 4

 

AFC SOUTH:

Tennessee Titans

Houston Texans

Jacksonville Jaguars

Indianapolis Colts

 

Divisional Champion: Colts

The colts have Andrew Luck and now Frank Gore which should be enough to handle the rest of the teams in the AFC South.

Seed: 3

 

AFC WEST:

 

Denver Broncos

San Diego Chargers

Oakland Raiders

Kansas City Chiefs

 

Divisional Champion: Broncos

The Broncos have repeatedly proven themselves to be a great team with Peyton Manning at QB, Demaryius Thomas at wide receiver and TJ Ward at safety. They should beat out everyone pretty easily.

Seed: 2

 

NFC EAST:

Philadelphia Eagles

Washington Redskins

Dallas Cowboys

New York Giants

 

Divisional Champion: Cowboys

The Cowboys will have a way easier time making it to the playoffs this year than last year, because Chip Kelly ravaged the Eagles in this year’s draft and the Redskins and Giants won’t bother anyone.

Seed: 3

 

NFC NORTH:

Minnesota Vikings

Detroit Lions

Chicago Bears

Green Bay Packers

 

Divisional Champions: Packers

The Packers are an unbelievable team that, in my opinion, should have made it to the Super Bowl. Aaron Rodgers and Jordy Nelson are great together and Clay Matthews ties it up on defense. All they have to do is keep Brandon Bostick on the bench and you have my 100% assurance that the Packers will make it to the playoffs.

Seed: 1

 

NFC SOUTH:

Carolina Panthers

Atlanta Falcons

New Orleans Saints

Tampa Bay Buccaneers

 

Divisional Champion: Saints

This may seem like an odd choice but Drew Brees on offense and now Stephone Anthony on defense (stopping big running and short passing plays from developing) will propel the Saints to something like a 9-7 record which should give them the road in. The odds of them making it to the Super Bowl are 25/1 so they should at least do semi-well in the playoffs.

Seed: 4

 

NFC WEST:
Seattle Seahawks

San Francisco 49ers

Arizona Cardinals

St. Louis Rams

 

Divisional Champion: Seahawks

6 words: Marshawn Lynch, Marshawn Lynch, Marshawn Lynch

Seed: 2

 

Next we go to the secondary champions, the ones who haven’t made it as a divisional champion, but are good seconds. Here are my predictions and a short blurb about why.

 

Wild Cards:

Wild card teams are teams that make it into the playoffs by the skin of their teeth.  They are the two best teams that haven’t made it into the playoffs yet.  There are only two wild card teams from each league. The wild card teams are seeded 5 and 6. Here are my predictions for the wild card teams and a short blurb about why.

 

AFC:

Baltimore Ravens

The ravens are really a good team that can even give the Patriots or the Seahawks a run for their money. Joe Flacco and Justin Forsett work really well together. The only problem is, the Ravens are really going to have to block for Forsett once they get into the red zone, because they traded everybody who knows how to catch a football (except Steve Smith) to the 49ers. This probably isn’t a surprise to anyone who knows betting, given that the odds of the Raven’s winning the Super Bowl are 12/1 (If you bet $1 and they win, then you get $12)

Seed: 5

 

San Diego Chargers

The chargers may not look like much right now, but when the season starts, you will see Philip Rivers and Antonio Gates work together constantly. Keenan Allen should also be a good option for Rivers, and since last regular season he got 783 total yards on 77 catches he should be a good option on long throws.This is also what the betting market says, with the Chargers’ futures (the prediction that they will win/lose) of making it to the Super Bowl 20/1; so making it into the playoffs shouldn’t be too hard.

Seed: 6

 

NFC:

San Francisco 49ers

The 49ers are a pretty good team lead by Colin Kaepernick and having a new defensive lineman will really boost them. They are a good team and if they can make sure not to make too many stupid mistakes, then they should go far. Their odds of winning the Super Bowl are 45/1 and their odds of making it to the playoffs are 25/1, so the market is kinda skeptical for now, but if the 49ers play hard they should go far this season

Seed: 6

 

Atlanta Falcons

The Falcons have some good players and some bad players. Devin Hester and Roddy White are both examples of players who really get out there and work hard to get that extra yard. They are both assets to the Falcons. A player on the Falcons who I don’t like is Vic Beasley. He may be the best pass rusher in the draft, but he will be stopped easily by people like Mike Iupati and Evan Mathis. He might mature into a very good player, but he played for Clemson, and their defense isn’t pro-style so he’ll need to learn a lot. And by the time that he does, the Falcons’ season might be over. The odds agree with me. Vegas Insider, the website where I got all my betting odds from, says that the Falcons have 40/1 odds of winning the Super Bowl.

Seed: 5

 

Playoffs

The playoffs are the way for the NFL to determine which teams have the skill to beat out other teams in single game elimination. Here is a short blurb about each game.

 

Note: I am not doing gambling predictions until the AFC and NFC conference championships because of the multitude of factors

 

1st Round:

This is where the playoffs start. The top two teams in each league get a bye (automatic win) to the next round; here is a diagram of how the playoffs work.

 

The first game will be between the Seed 3 AFC team and the Seed 6 AFC team. The matchup is Colts vs Chargers.

 

Winner: Colts

The Colts have Andrew Luck who may actually have made it to the Super Bowl if not for Deflategate. In addition, the Colts now have Frank Gore at running back which should be more than enough to overwhelm Philip Rivers and the Chargers. My guess is 37-28, with the Colts pulling a last second field goal to broaden their lead.

 

The next game will be between the Seed 4 AFC and the Seed 5 AFC. My prediction is that it will be Steelers vs Ravens.

 

Winner: Ravens

The Steelers have a good team and have now drafted Bud Dupree, so they are good, but my feeling is that the Ravens will pull some kind of last-second running play, giving them a win. Predicted score: 42-38

 

After that comes the 3 Seed vs 6 Seed NFC game which will be Cowboys vs 49ers.

 

Winner: 49ers (barely)

This game will probably be the closest of any playoff in playoff #50, so hold on to your hats. At the end of regular time the score will be tied 35-35, in overtime, no one will score with both the 49ers and the Cowboys each making spectacular defensive plays to keep the other from scoring.  In double OT, though, the 49ers will have Carlos Hyde run up the middle for a touchdown from somewhere between the 10-20 yard line.

 

Finally in the first round comes the game between the NFL 4-5 Seed teams; in my prediction Saints vs Falcons.

 

Winner: Saints

This will be a good game to watch because the Falcons have no run defense and the Saints have no pass defense so Matt Ryan will either be getting sacked or throwing long, wildly inaccurate passes to a Saints defense that can’t intercept them. For the Saints offense, I can almost guarantee that 90+% of Drew Brees’ throws will be under 10 yards. Overall, just because Drew Brees is better than Matt Ryan, the Saints will win 28-24.

 

2nd Round:

Now it’s down to teams that can really handle themselves. The #1 Seed teams will play the worst surviving teams and the #2 Seed team will play the other surviving team in their league.

 

The opening match is between the Pats (Patriots) and Ravens (#1 AFC seed and worst surviving AFC team).

 

Winner: Pats

The Patriots simply outrank the Ravens in terms of the level they play on; there isn’t really a way for the Ravens to win no matter how well they play (save for Tom Brady getting injured).

 

The next game is between the Broncos and the Colts (2 Seed and 3 Seed).

 

Winner: Colts

The Colts will beat the Broncos by a very slim margin of three points in my prediction. The Colts are good enough to stop an aging Peyton Manning and CJ Anderson, and the Andrew Luck is good enough to evade the Broncos sacks. Predicted score 45-42

 

Next comes the NFC seed 1 (Packers) vs worst remaining team(49ers).

 

Winner: Packers

This is the same thing as the Pats-Ravens game, the 49ers are good, but the Packers are just better. Predicted Score: 35-20

 

Lastly in the second round comes the Seahawks-Saints game. Just like last year’s Seahawks-Panthers game, this just won’t go well for the Saints. An even bigger predicted blowout then the Packers-49ers game, I don’t even want to predict the score.

 

Third Round:

The final four. These are the teams that can play hard, and don’t have any major problems in any part of their team. I will now go back to talking about the betting odds.

 

First Patriots vs Colts. Just like last year. Except this time, the refs are gonna be looking pretty hard at the quality of the balls.

 

Winner: Colts

 

The Colts now have Frank Gore, who is far better than LeGarrette Blount and Andrew Luck is at least in the same league to Tom Brady. On defense for the Colts we’re talking Greg Toler and Mike Adams. For the Pats we’re talking about Rob Ninkovich and Malcolm Butler.  It’s going to be a tough game for sure, and my guess is that the score will be 24-21, with a late fourth quarter field goal by the Colts. The betting odds reflect this as the Colts have the best chance at 7/2 and the Pats are behind them with 4/1 odds.

 

Next we go to the NFC championship where we have the Seahawks facing the Packers for the second year in a row. This game will be even more heavily bet on then the AFC championship.

 

Winner:Packers

 

Another very close game. This time though, the Packers shouldn’t make any stupid mistakes, so they should be fine. The gambling odds aren’t sure about this. The Seahawks lead the Packers with 16/5 odds and the Packers are close behind with 7/2 odds.

 

Super Bowl

The Super Bowl is the culmination of the NFL season. The two teams good enough to handle everybody in their division come head to head in one game. In my prediction the teams will be the Packers vs the Colts.

 

Winner: Packers

 

The Packers and the Colts are both great teams, but the Packers just have an edge with Eddie Lacy at running back, Aaron Rodgers at QB, Jordy Nelson at wide receiver, and Clay Matthews at linebacker. The Colts are going to put up one heck of a fight, though. Andrew Luck, Frank Gore, TY Hilton and D’Qwell Jackson will give the Packers some trouble. The deciding factor will be the Colts’ lack of ability to stop Eddie Lacy. The betting on this game will be very very close. The Packers lead the odds at #2 with 13/2 odds and the Colts are close behind with 12/1 odds.

 

Season Review:

Overall, this season will be pretty unpredictable. From my predictions, Ravens pull out over the Steelers to the 49ers victory over the Cowboys to even the Colts beating the Patriots with a field goal, the season is full of great plays and stops. The one thing this round of playoffs lacks however is major failures like in last year’s playoffs. I back this up with the reasoning that this year, teams will be more careful about mistakes and will be less willing to take risks, simply accepting the level they’re on, and playing their best. This will affect the betting as the bets will, for the most part, not change. Overall, Super Bowl 50 and the playoffs before should be pretty fun.

Self

Part 1: Bus

The bus

In the back, swaying and bumping over roads

Paved with cracked tar

Laughing

Playing games with reality

The mood

is happy

even euphoric

Two friends

Maybe more

Lock eyes

Sudden nervousness.

Tense.

Waiting.

Waiting for what?

Something they both know

Something they both know but something that neither says

Until now

“Who loves who?”

The names of random classmates, together in fantasy

Until the moment comes

He looks her in the eye

“And I,” he pauses.

“Like you.”

She is shocked

But she smiles and says

“I like you back”

Innocent

A love of children

But it will last

 

Part 2: Sapphirestar

Her heart is broken.

She doesn’t know what’s happening

And she doesn’t like it.

Always friends, but maybe their relationship is cracked

She’s angry

And unhappy

And regretful.

Maybe it’s her fault

Maybe it’s his

She doesn’t know anything anymore

She’s in tears

Crying the blood of her heart out on the blacktop

He’s in pain

She is in no state to help him

Later she will regret it.

She feels like she will never be happy again

He’s talking to her

Ignoring himself

Making light of his pain

In order to comfort her.

She starts to smile

Despite herself.

Nobody but him could do that to her.

He makes her happy when she sees him

She would die for him

She realizes it when he smiles.

She loves him.

He loves her.

She makes it her mission to never let him down.

She knows she’ll falter.

But she knows she’ll try.

 

Part 3: Dare

Her friend

They’re laughing together.

She is dared

To do something

That she needs an excuse to do.

“Do it within my earshot.”

“Okay.”

She is nervous

But happy at the same time.

She approaches him

Her heart flutters like a finch

Trapped in the prison of her chest.

She blushes.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Alone.”

They leave behind the clutter of the schoolyard

They leave to be alone

In the shade of a dying oak.

But it is still alive.

“I love you”

She says.

He smiles.

He shifts on the faded grass

She thought she saw him blush

“Ditto”

He says

His face is red

He is smiling

So is she

She doesn’t know what “Ditto” means

But she will

And his eyes tell her the true meaning

Of what he says

 

Part 4: Floodlights

It is cold

Wind whips their bare faces

They forgot to bring scarves.

The sun is setting

A cold fire on the unmelting snow

As the clouds dance their slow waltz across the flickering dusk

Stars are blinking into being

One by one

Above their heads

They are alone for the moment

Free from people

Free from lies

The lies they’ve told all their lives.

They slide and stagger on the tight-packed snowflakes

Laughing and trying not to fall

They lift off from the ground

Free from gravity

Free from others

They reach the top

Silver floodlights flicker on around them and bathe them in brightness

They race

down the hill, laughing in the stream of air they’re flying into

He falls

She stops and makes her clumsy way towards him

They’re holding hands

She pulls him to his feet

“I have something to tell you,” she says

“Yes?”

He is expecting something

“I could say it first” he says, knowing what she is thinking.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide, reflecting the floodlights

“Definitely”

 

Part 5: Firewall

It is the next year

She is looking forward to seeing his smile again

She’s missed him like he is a part of her heart

Maybe he is.

She spots him in a crowd

She waves

He doesn’t see her.

This happens every day

He vanishes and she cannot find him

She cries herself to sleep at night

She writes him a note.

More like a letter.

Her friend has the locker next to him

The girl hands him her note

He never replies

It is difficult to know his feelings

She is kept in limbo

Never knowing what he is thinking

But always wanting to know

He has his firewall

Hard to breach

But she will try

She watches him from under her lashes

Never with the courage to talk to him

She wonders

Where did it go?

Does he feel the same about her

As she does about him?

Every night she reads the notes he sent her

When they were young

And innocent

And she knows

One day

She will break his firewall

 

Part 6: Night

She’s awake

She shouldn’t be

Glancing furtively around her

Her face is lit by a machine

She wants to talk to someone

But nobody is there

She hears a sound.

She’s not the only one awake.

Hello

She reads the message.

It is simple and short

But she smiles like she has won the world.

It’s you

She writes.

They talk

He shows nothing

Until later at night

They are pouring their feelings out

They have no other outlet.

Nobody else understands.

But he does.

So much she never knew

She wishes she could be with him now

Now she knows how much he has gone through

How much she never knew

She has passed the firewall

They are talking

Maybe I love you because you understand me

She says from her heart.

I can’t help but love you

The reply arrives with a soft ding.

She falls asleep

Maybe he is still awake.

All alone, waiting for someone in the dark.

 

Part 7: Poetry and Loathing

She is back on her computer

Her virtual escape from the tortures of real life

He is there too

It is late at night and they’re talking

She finds it easy to talk to someone who is not there

Easier than to talk to someone who is.

Hello there I don’t believe we’ve met before

She is surprised.

They know each other.

Who are you?

My name’s Loathing and yours

She is confused- what is this?

Loathing: A feeling of intense dislike or disgust; hatred

That’s what I call myself

She’s about to cry.

Now she knows what he’s been dealing with for so long

The voices and the vividness

The stories and the racing mind

Always racing

Always busy

Never still

She writes from the heart

Fierce poetry

Almost unconscious

Trying to combat the Loathing

Trying to draw him from the abyss he has been near for years

Using her spirit; she is the poetry

Teeth gritted

Eyes shimmering with tears

Writing to save a life

She knows

If he were hurt he would only need to ask and she would take the pain without hesitation

He is unhappy and she keeps it in her mind, dampening her outward happiness with his emotions

She fights loathing with poetry

Silent World

Silent world. Chemical world. My world. They mean the same thing. Before, there used to be life, plants, animals, society. Not anymore. I write this as the chemicals slowly ravage my body, the same ones that killed this world. Maybe, if our world can heal, you will find this and know our mistakes, but let me start when I began to understand our wrongs.

It was blue today, the picture on my wall. The ultimate expanse, the sky, arching over the glittering ocean. Yesterday it was the grandeur of the redwoods, nothing like the small trees that line the streets here. The pictures make some people mad at those who took these wonders from us.

We are the lucky ones, the teachers at school say, the only ones who didn’t try to destroy the world. Yet no one listened to Ersatz, the company who sponsored Eden, so they all had to suffer in their hell as we lived in paradise.

But that’s all over now. We are the only ones left and today we have a Gathering, to decide who gets the new position in the lab. I contemplate getting chosen as I pull on my coat and head into the sunshine. If I get it, there could be a potential social benefit, but the work would be hard.

As I arrive in the amphitheater the head-scientist Thomas flashes a sparkling grin at me, his dark hair artfully shaped. Then again, social benefits didn’t sound so bad. People listened to those who worked at the lab, especially at Gatherings when big decisions are made. I will probably be picked. There are only a few others with the qualifications to take the job.

Thinking about it, I really want that job.

Nine and a half hours later the debate is still going on and Thomas, who is advocating for me, is losing. His Secondary, Robert, is working with Kelsie who also wants the job. She is blond and her blue eyes are vibrant against her black eyeliner. It is no mystery why Robert is fighting oh-so valiantly for her, seeing as he is an unattractive and unmarried man. If she gets the job due to him it is expected that she will be more open to him.

Thomas is getting tired and a few more men had joined in with Robert, probably to get “in” with Kelsie. Finally, when it reaches 10:00 p.m., Thomas gives up, Kelsie gets the job and I am stuck back at University. Feeling fed up because I am extremely qualified while she had barely passed exams, I stomp out.

On the way back to my apartment I pass Thomas, who tries to say something to me, but I just push passed him, too upset to talk.

When I get home I see that the picture had changed, it is now a lightning storm over a cliff. It is strange, how the picture makes me feel. Like I am filled up, so full that I could burst. I have never been this angry before. I always succeed, I am top of the class, I deserve that job.

Before I realize what I am doing, I shatter the screen that holds the pictures. A hot stinging sensation shoots up my arm, I look down to see my own blood that now decorates the glass. It hurts, but part of me likes it. Part of me says to keep on hurting because it will never go away. After all of my work, all my running, I will still hurt because I have lost them, I have lost the job, I have lost Thomas. Red descends on my vision, lulling me into a state of comforting rage. Finally being able to let out how I feel.

I awake hours later, feeling tired and empty. That full feeling, having hope and anger swirling through my head is gone. I am left feeling adrift in the world. What is left for me? That was the only job opening and I don’t think I could bear working in the lower levels. Processing numbers all day, coming home and drinking the night away, only to do it again the next day.

Maybe letting my license expire would be worth it. I mean, the rest of the world might hate Eden, but they could accept me. All I would have to do is wait and then I could leave. The rest of the world and I certainly had something in common; both of us had our lives fall to ashes.

Just one more week and then I could go see the ocean and redwoods from the shattered screen. I smile gently as I pull the covers over shoulders. No longer feeling empty I slip back to sleep.

Two days later, I find myself next to Thomas in one of the many decorative gardens.

“I’m going to let my license expire,” I tell him when the conversation comes to a lull, my voice barely louder than the singing fountain. I was expecting sadness, a little betrayal maybe, but not the sheer horror that covered his face like plaster.

“What? You — you’ll be dismissed! You can’t go, how will you survive?” he splutters. Survive? The world may not be as easy outside of Eden, but it certainly isn’t lethal.

“How do you mean? It might not be entirely accepted but it certainly isn’t dangerous!” My voice is rising by the word. His face falls blank for a moment, then he grabs my face between his palms.

“Listen to me. Whatever they have told you is a lie. I can’t let you go, I can’t let you throw your life away not before I — ” He stops, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wild with something I couldn’t recognize. An insanity, a protective desperation, a need for something.

“What, Thomas?” I whisper. My voice is shaky and scared.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He resumes his seamless, professional appearance that I recognize from when he gives lectures at University. Even though he’s only a year older than me, he is already the Second Scientist at the lab, I mean, what else would a Presidential descendant expect?

And the way he looks at me, like he is terrified of the thought of me in the outside, away from him. He looks insane, mad enough to kill.

I awake to a knock at the door. Thomas is leaning against the door jamb and looking like he hasn’t slept at all last night.

“I got you the job,” he gasps out, his face hopeful, but there is a shadow of something much darker. But that doesn’t matter right now, I got the job! For a moment I stand frozen, then I throw my arms around his neck, crying.

Taken by surprise, Thomas raises his arms slowly to hug me back. After a moment, I land on my feet and release him, saying, “What would I do without you?” At my compliment his whole face darkens for an instant, not even long enough for me to be sure that it actually happened.

“Come on, let’s get you set up,” he says, and all my worries wash away.

The lab is big and bright, full of stainless steel and glass. All sorts of instruments occupy the large rooms that are connected by long fluorescent-lit hallways. As I settle into my desk and stare out the massive window at the city below me I wonder for the first time how Thomas got me this job, and why.

You’ll Walk into a Bar

You’re standing by a table in the corner of the room, nursing a cup of cider and trying not to stand out. People around you are talking and moving around and, in one instance, singing. You consider sitting down at the table, but the group already there would probably try to include you in conversation, so you don’t.

A huge guy winds over to the table. He catches your eye and smiles at you, then disappears suddenly from view. There’s a crashing sound and a muffled curse as the man hits the ground. Without thinking, you step forward to see if he’s okay.

He’s sitting on the floor, looking very sheepish.

“Are you alright?” you ask him, holding out a hand to help him up.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says. He takes your hand and pulls himself upright. “I’m Axel.”

“Greg,” you say. Axel’s eyes are deep brown, and there’s a small tattoo on his wrist. He looks behind him and frowns slightly at the table leg.

“That wasn’t very smooth,” he admits.

“I’ve seen smoother,” you agree. “Are you sure you’re alright? That sounded like a hard fall.”

Axel dismisses this with a wave of his hand. “I fall a lot. It wasn’t that bad. Nothing broken.”

“You spilled your drink,” you observe. “Can I buy you another one?” You aren’t sure exactly where this is coming from.

Axel’s face lights up. “I would love that.”

 

° ° °

 

You’ll walk into a bar. You’ll go up to the bartender and say, “I’d like a beer.”

The bartender will frown at you. “ID?”

You’ll smile nervously. “C’mon.”

She’ll roll her eyes, gesture at the door. You won’t move. “Out,” she’ll say. You’ll pretend not to hear her. She’ll beckon to the bouncer, expecting you to get the hint. You won’t. She’ll shrug. “Your choice, pal.” You’ll be escorted out of the bar.

You’ll struggle, but you’re only 5’4” and the bouncer, like most bouncers, is as tall as a mountain. So you’ll be lifted out and dropped on the curb. The bouncer, whose name is Axel, will sit down next to you, sigh, and drag a paw-like hand over his face.

“What the hell are you doing here, Greg?” he’ll ask.

You’ll shrug. “I’m getting a drink.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” You won’t say anything. He’ll wait, then shake his head at you. “I work at this bar. I work here.” He’ll rub at his forehead, sigh again. “You know I work here.”

You’ll carefully avoid his eyes, looking instead at your beat up pink Toms. But you’ll feel his irritation. He’ll exhale and push himself up. He’ll turn to go back into the bar.

“Axel,” you’ll say.

He’ll stop walking. “Greg. I need to get back to work.”

“I miss you.” You won’t mean to say it until you do.

“I know.” His voice will be soft, a gentle rumble and a gentle phrase. You’ll wait, hoping for something more, but instead the door of the bar will open, then swing shut.

After a moment, you’ll get up. You’ll push your bangs out of your eyes and take a deep breath. You won’t cry. You won’t. You’ll want to (you always want to), but you won’t.

You’ll feel trapped. You’ll want to claw your way out of the feeling, but you won’t be able to.

So you’ll walk. Quickly, arms wrapped around your torso like they’re holding you together.

You’ll walk down the sidewalk. Past the family owned shoe store that they’ll have converted into a Starbucks, past the swing set where you used to sit with pretty eyed boys and spill all your secrets for a kiss, past what feels like everything.

You’ll walk to the end of the street. And you’ll stop. And you’ll breathe. You won’t think about the dumbass thing you just did.

Once you feel like you can trust your mind and your legs, you’ll sit down on the curb. The tight feeling won’t be gone, but you’ll pretend that it is. Sometimes that works, and this will be one of those sometimes.

You’ll open your phone and tap out I’m sorry, then delete it before you can hit send. I’m sorry won’t fix how many times you’ll have shown up uninvited (unwanted) in his life. You’ll understand that.

 

° ° °

You blink.

“Greg? You alright?” Axel asks.

“Yeah…yeah,” you reply. You shake your head. It feels like cobwebs are draped over your thoughts. Axel still looks concerned. “I’m fine,” you add. “I just zoned out for a minute.”

“Yeah, you looked pretty out of it.” He takes a sip of his drink. “What were you thinking of?”

“The future, I guess,” you say.

Axel smiles. “The future, huh. What about it?”

You shrug. “Axel…” You stop. “I’ve got to go.”

“Oh, alright.” He looks puzzled, but he says nothing and stands up with you. “Here, I’ll give you my number.” He writes it down on a piece of newspaper and hands it to you. “Call me, okay?”

“I will.” You won’t.

You take one look back when you get to the door. Axel’s watching you, and you quickly push the door open and step outside.

It’s better this way. You understand that.

Window Writing

the push of wind,

the rustle of trees moving,

the rush of heaters,

the murmur of voices,

the beep of a reversing truck,

the zoom of an accelerator,

the squeak of brakes,

the screech of tires,

the blaring of horns,

the shouts of the workmen,

the whir of the saw,

the shudder of the jackhammer,

the tap of fingers on keys,

the crinkle of plastic,

the crunch of chips,

the bark of laughter,

the slam of a door,

the crack of a knuckle,

the pounding of the heart,

the clatter of a phone,

 

the sound of me thinking.

Dream in The First Place

Soft feet spring like flying stars

And a day turns to a day turns to a day

Never mind reality when you can ride with a dreamer,

Who wants a grumbling stomach thirsting for revenge,

A bird calling its children home and finding the world,

Who wants music flooding their ears,

A flower as soft as love brushing your cheeks,

who wants a dagger sharp as love piercing their lip,

A scar built and made by unfocused hands,

Who wouldn’t want to say “I love you” in the rain and thunder crash,

A ship sinking so well it forces laughter,

Life can be a burden, death can be a release,

And I can find my worth, my solitude, my soul

While flying on the shoulders of dreamers

And encased in a hungry love,

But the water that flows cannot be drunk,

And I can bathe in my words.

I am searching my pit of pillows,

Next to a soft ray of sunlight,

Blue skies actually bring me down

But gray skies are my beauty,

I say it all but think not a thing,

I can’t count my days of not believing,

But those few days unmasked are only mine,

Never mind the stories published but listen to mine untold.

A fingertip can bend the scale

But your weights slammed won’t do a thing

Awaken by truth makes me long for fiction,

And you tell me to get my head out of the clouds,

Well, you can’t see the stars,

My short time away is a rich one,

I won’t have time to be reasonable when I’m lying on the moon,

The winds of my lungs whisper in and out

Your heartbeat beats a steady rule

Mine is dancing, it’s leaping and laughing.

Today a newspaper cracked my fantasy,

My sobs cracked a heart

My scream cracked a mirror,

And you say life is a train moving on,

I’m going to be slumped left behind,

A stain of grief blotted on the surface of no one caring,

A hand pulls me around the curve

Smiles stretch onto fake crying faces,

Bending their elastic lies,

So I soar away on the wings of a dream I spun myself,

I built the wings while falling in a jumbled heap that flew

And you dare say I’m not strong

Never mind and let it all be gone,

The sharp dagger of love will make its move

It will claim me and take me as a casualty,

Isn’t everyone just so tired of holding on?

One day I can see what was here all along if I’m lucky enough

If I can gather my breath and dreams and release and let go

And allow the slipping that welcomes me and my dreams

If they ever were dreams in the first place.

The Story of a Family

The lighthouse was located on the headland. Dagny trudged her way up the path, pulling her coat around her. In the fall, it was colder up here. The wind was sharper, but she didn’t care. Even though she could use a bike if she wished, the autumn foliage made the long trek worth it.

The waves battered the rocks at the bottom of the headland, tossing spray up fifteen feet or more. Buttercream, Dagny’s golden retriever, ran alongside her, her strong paws thudding on the ground. The leaves fluttered around them like forgotten thoughts.

The forest ended suddenly, revealing a clearing with the lighthouse at the end. Dagny ran the last few hundred meters and reached the top panting.

A few feet away from the lighthouse, there stood a house. Made of red bricks with white windows, it was the size of a cottage. It faced the sea.

Dagny opened the gray, wood door that was battered by years of wind and sea spray. There was a small kitchen to her left and the living room was to her right. A fire was burning in the fireplace and a pile of books laid in a corner. At the end of the entrance hallway was the door to the guest room.

She walked into the kitchen and started unloading her basket. Dagny’s sister Casey walked in, munching on an apple. She grinned when she saw her sister.

“How was town?” she asked. “How’s Mrs. Nelson? And Patty? How about Mr. Brown?”

Dagny laughed. “All fine,” she said, “there’s going to be an arts festival in a few weeks.” Casey nodded non-committally. “So…any messages?” Dagny asked.

“Not a word.” Casey threw away the apple core and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I sometimes feel like she’s never coming back.”

Dagny nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

They stood in silence for a minute, then Casey sighed. “I’d better start dinner,” she said. Dagny nodded and joined Casey in the kitchen.

Rain started, pattering down on the roof, softly at first, then tumbling down. Lightning split the sky in a trident of light. Dagny could see the waves in the sea below tinged with white, churning in the storm.

Casey smiled as she passed by, walking to the sink to wash some onions for the salad. “Do you want to chop these?” she asked. Dagny nodded, grabbing the cutting board from the counter. Casey watched her, then asked, quietly, “How was Mrs. Morris?”

Dagny looked up. “She was okay. Nothing’s come for us.”

“She knows how important this is to us, right?”

Dagny nodded. “Yeah, she knows.”

“Peony will come back.” Casey’s voice was choked up, almost slurring the words. “You know that, right?”

Dagny nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Casey shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “God, I miss her.”

“Me too.” Dagny put an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Me too.”

Casey wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry, Dag, I’ll stop.”

Dagny shook her head. “It’s okay. I miss her too.” She squeezed Casey’s shoulders. “Cry as much as you like.”

Casey smiled. “Maybe later. Now I have to make the salad.” Getting up, she headed to the stove. “You coming?”

Dagny nodded. “In a bit.” She went to her room. Picking up the framed photograph on her desk of her, Casey and Peony in front of the lighthouse, she smiled thoughtfully. They had gone there with a friend, Lizabeth. Lizabeth had taken the picture.

“Oh, Peony,” she muttered. “Come back.”

Sighing, Dagny put the photograph down and went to the kitchen to join Casey.

* * *

“Dagny.” Someone was shaking her. She groaned and turned over. “Dagny!” Casey’s voice, sharper than usual.

She opened her eyes. “What?”

“Guess who I just got a call from?”

“I dunno.” Dagny sighed. “Why did you wake me up, anyway?”

“Peony called! She’s coming in three days!” Casey shouted. “She’s coming back.” She paced the perimeter of the room, then returned to the bed.

“Come on!” she said. “Get up, already! She’s coming!”

Grumbling, Dagny swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m up,” she said. “Is there breakfast?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen. But Dagny! She’s coming and ohmygodohmygod what are we going to do?!?”

“Casey. Calm down,” Dagny said evenly, on her way to the kitchen. “We’ll welcome her, throw a nice dinner, and then adjust to life with her around again. I mean, her room is untouched, so it should be relatively easy for her to readjust.”

“Oh, yeah, about that! She said that she was bringing a guest with her.”

“What?” Dagny whirled around. “What guest? Did she say how long they’re staying?”

Casey shrugged. “She just said a guest.”

Dagny spread cream cheese on a bagel. “Great. Now we have one more problem to worry about.” She shook her head. “Okay, we’ll give her guest the guest room.”

Casey nodded. “Do you think that she’s changed?” she asked after a moment.

“Changed?” asked Dagny.

“Like, she’s not so selfish anymore.”

“I don’t know, Casey. Maybe.”

“I wanted to travel as well!” Casey suddenly said. “We planned that whole trip for the three of us, for when Peony was a bit older. But she couldn’t wait, could she?” She crossed her arms angrily. “She could have taken us along.”

Dagny shook her head. She was remembering the day before Peony had left.

Dagny and Peony were sitting at the kitchen table. Casey was leaning against the counters, head in her hands. “I’m not a child!” Peony had shouted.

“I know,” Dagny had said. “But we think that we should hold off the trip for a few years. Just until you’re 27 or so.”

“Peony, everything we’re doing is for your benefit.” Casey’s voice had been tight, as if she was about to cry. “You could try to be a little grateful.”

“I want to see the world before I’m old!” Peony had gotten up, then, and slammed the door. The next morning, she had left after breakfast.

Casey’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. “I did want to see the world, you know.”

“Why didn’t we?” Dagny asked. “I mean, we’ve had a year. We could have gone so many places in that time.”

“But it wouldn’t be the same,” Casey muttered. “Not without Peony.”

* * *

The bell rang. Dagny stopped setting the table, and hurried to answer it. When she flung open the door, Peony’s face greeted her.

“Dagny. Hi,” she said. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Dagny swooped in for a hug. “It’s great to see you, too,” she said.

“This is Annie,” said Peony after a moment. “She’s my friend.”

Dagny looked up. Annie was tall, with black shaggy hair to her shoulders. She wore a leather jacket and jeans. Her right ear had two piercings in it. She stuck out a hand to Dagny and smiled. “Hi. Peony’s told me all about you.”

“Really?” asked Dagny.

Annie nodded. “Yes. And thank you so much for letting me stay here for a bit.”

“Yeah, about that. How long were you planning to stay for?”

Annie grinned. “Three nights. Then I’ll go to Massachusetts to see my family.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dagny smiled. “Let me help with your bags.”

Casey emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. Smiling at them, she hugged Peony somewhat stiffly. “It’s good to see you back!” she said.

Peony laughed and introduced Annie. Casey shook hands with her, and then turned to Dagny. “Anyway. I have to go make sure that our dinner doesn’t burn,” she said. “Are you going to take them to their rooms, Dagny?”

Nodding, Dagny picked up the duffel bag and led the way to the guest room.

“You’ll be sleeping here,” she said to Annie. “If you need anything, please ask Casey or me.”

“Or me!” said Peony.

Annie nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure it’s very comfortable.”

Peony walked up to her room, Dagny helping her with her suitcase on the stairs. “So,” she asked, “Did you miss me?”

Dagny sighed. “Yes. We did. But we were also wondering why you couldn’t bring us along while you pranced about the globe.”

“You wanted to go later!” Peony exclaimed. “You weren’t ready at that time.”

“Ready? Peony, I was ready since we had first had the idea,” Dagny said in a measured tone. “We just thought that you would be too young for such a trip.”

“But I wasn’t!” Peony shouted. “I was the perfect age for traveling.”

“Were you really? Where did you meet Annie? And why didn’t you write after the first six months?”

“I met Annie in Paris. And besides, it’s not like you cared about my trip. That’s why I stopped writing.”

Dagny clenched her hands into fists, trying not to scream. “Peony. Casey and I cared very much. And we were always so happy whenever a postcard or email came. It made us feel like we were there, with you. When we got the postcard from Rome, we made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner and Casey bought a CD of Tosca to play in the background. After dinner, we watched Roman Holiday. I mean, just two weeks ago, I asked Casey where she thought you were, and when you were coming back. She didn’t know, but she said that she missed you very much.”

Peony was silent for a moment. Then she said, very quietly, “India.”

“What?” asked Dagny, confused.

“We were in India at that time. It was really beautiful, you would have loved it,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Dagny opened her mouth to speak, but Peony shushed her. “I’m sorry for not taking you along. You’re right, you deserved it. And I hope that next time, we can go all together.” She rummaged around in her suitcase, then took out two packages wrapped in paper. “This is for you,” she said. “Open it.”

Dagny slowly tore the paper, then cut the tape of the bubble wrap. The present was heavy in her hand.

It was a gray stone, polished so that it had a shine to it. Carved on the surface were the words “family” and “love,” repeated over and over again.

“I got one for Casey, too,” said Peony. “I thought she might like it.”

Dagny hugged her sister tightly. “She’ll love it. Oh, Peony, how we’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” said Peony. “Very, very much.”

“You know,” said Dagny, after a moment. “Casey once told me that she’s always wanted to see the Hawaiian islands. Do you think a trip could be arranged?”

Peony nodded. “Oh, yes. Definitely. In fact, since her birthday’s in the fall, it will be off season, meaning that we won’t be bombarded by tourists. Oh, and there’s this great restaurant we discovered. We can take her there.”

Dagny smiled. “I think she would love that,” she said.

Casey called them to dinner. Dagny could see Peony shrink back.

“Do you think she’ll be upset when she sees me?” she asked.

Dagny smiled. “No. In fact, I think she will be very happy.”

“Casey,” she called. “Come up here. Your sister has returned.

The Choice

About the Author

Elena Lohsen is a fun loving pianist who loves to write made-up stories that are either funny or dramatic. She is home schooled and loves to call herself either Larry or Bob.

A tiny voice asked, “Is this the one?”  Two small lights were glistening in a clever man’s room.

“I’m sure of it. He’s the one who will defeat Madith, the wizard.”  Suddenly a loud boom of thunder sent the glistening lights away into the dark and cold december night.

The next morning, Wayne was thinking, that was a strange dream, the way I was in a land where magical creatures thrived.

Wayne’s days always felt repetitive. everyday he would make a cup of coffee and stare at a picture on his desk; the picture was of a woman that had gone missing.  This woman was his ex-girlfriend.  She had gone missing right after a big fight.

About 11:00pm, he heard small high voices – as if a mouse was talking. he couldn’t make out what the things were saying.  He grabbed his torch and quickly turned over and shined the light right into two small flying green faces. He stared at the things with a face so white you might think it was marble.

“Hello,” said one of the things. “We are pixies, guards of the forest.”

“No, I’m just dreaming. That’s all,”  and with a nervous heart, he went back to sleep.

Midnight struck with a boom of thunder.  Wayne jerked up and saw that outside was the largest storm he’d ever seen.  Suddenly a giant  crack of lightning flew through his window and struck him in the heart.  Most people would die from that, but this my friends is only the beginning of a epic journey.

Wayne woke up with a headache worse than the world ending.  Looking around, Wayne saw that he was in a forest, his shoes were gone, and his torch was lying next to him.

“Wait? Where am I?”

“What, you don’t know?” said a high girlish voice.

“Who’s there?”

“Don’t you know where you are?” said the girly voice again.

“No. Where am I?”

“Why your in the land of Lenova.”

“Were?” asked Wayne.

“Lenova.  It’s where all things are possible.”

“Where are you?” Wain shouted, starting to get annoyed.

“Here.”

Just then a lady with chocolate brown hair dropped down. Scared half to death, Wayne fell back and said, “Who… who are you?”

“I dont really know yet.  I’m still searching.”

“Searching for what?” Wayne asked.

“My other half.  When I was two years, old Madith stole half of my identity.”

“No one can steal half of someone identity.  It’s impossible.”

“In lanova anything is possible. Oh, by the way, my name is Lily.”  Starting to leave, she called back

“Well, hurry up then.”

“So, you’re the man who’s supposed to defeat Madith?” Lily asked.

“What?…  Who’s Madith?”

“You don’t know who Madith is?… Never mind.”

Lily and Wayne walked for three miles until they were in a plain.

“What are we doing here?”

“Well, you see, a month ago a vision appeared to me, and said that a man would come, and I would help him to defeat Madith.  Since then, I’ve found many men, but all were big fakes. They all gave up.”

“So, Where are we going?”

“We are going to see Empathy.”

“What’s empathy?” asked Wayne.

“Not what, who. Empathy is a wise fairy who will help us”

By then they were in a dense swamp. “Well, we’re here.” Lily said, trying to sound happy.  In front of them was a large lake. “Here. Give me your hand.” With those words, she took a knife and cut his hand. One drop of dark red blood fell into the lake. At once, a terrible shrieking came out of the swamp behind them. They turned around, scared, and beheld Euryale.

“Oh no! Euryale’s scream can kill!  Quickly, put this in your ears.” Lily threw a tiny tube of water at Wayne.

”What do I do with this?”

“Pour it in your ears.”

“What?”

“Just do it!” Wayne poured it in his ears.  It felt cold; it made things hard to hear.  The only thing he did hear was the terrible, muffled, shrieking sound of Euryale.  Scared, he looked back and saw Euryale hurtling towards them.  Before they knew what they were doing, it grabbed Lily and threw her in the water.  Wayne watched terrified. Becoming only more terrified as Euryale came ever closer to where Wayne stood. He began to run.

“No!” shouted Lily frantically.  “That will only make it mad.”

It ran after Wayne and, with a loud shriek, it stopped running and turn towards Lily.  She was dragging herself soaking out of the water.  A cut on her forehead sent blood down the side of her face.  Euryale ran to her, picked her up on its shoulders and vanished.

“No.” breathed Wayne in a desperate voice. He knew that now he was all alone.

The green dirty river became suddenly gleaming blue.  A flash of lightning and a woman in a green gown was standing on the water.  She started to walk towards them. “Am I too late?”

“If you mean missing a giant monster attack us, then yes. Who are you?”

“I am Empathy, the queen of Lenova. Where is Lily?”

“The monster took her. So, how do we get her back?”

“Its name is Euryale.  You will have to go to its lair. Here, take this.” Empathy handed Wayne a small silver wrist watch. It wasn’t like other wrist watches.  It didn’t have hands.  Instead it had dots floating in a gel.

“What is it?” asked Wayne.

“It’s a internuncio.”

“What’s that?”

“A transporter.  It will take you ten feet forward.

Let me tell you about Madith.  A long time ago, Madith worked for the King.  Tired of being pushed around, he declared that he would some day push the King around and make him bow down to Madith.”

“Wow, he sounds horrible.” squeaked Wayne.

“Well,” Empathy continued, “after that, he vanished.  A couple years later, a man found him in the caves of Onna.  You will go in the caves and destroy him, without destroying the world.  I will put you in the caves of Kimp. That should be where Lily is.”

Empathy started to fade into the wind.  “My time is up.” Fading, she threw Wayne a piece of gold paper.  On it were just two words:

 Your choice.

“My choice,” he said to himself.  He was still looking at the paper Wayne looked up. He was in a cave the size of a  small room. The cave had no exit. He went frantically around, but found nothing – just a grey wall.  He touched every knook and cranny.

Giving up, he leaned against a wall and released a small pebble that fell onto the floor.  As this happened, the wall he was leaning on lifted up. Falling in, Wayne landed on a soft thing.  This thing was squishy, but warm.  “Wait a minute. This thing is moving,” Wayne whispered to himself.  The shrieking he had heard before came loudly again. The thing got up, making Wayne fall hard on the stone ground. He looked up, but didn’t see Euryale.

He stood carefully and started to walk the long tunnel before him. He passed many disgusting things, like a arm rotting on the floor and piles of bones everywhere. In front of him was a hole no bigger than a large dog.  Trying, but failing to squeeze in, his wrist watch loosened and fell to the floor. Picking it up, he remembered what it was.  Turning it over and over, Wayne found a button. He pushed it and red sparks came out. Then, it started to glow a purple, blue color. The world around him started to go black. He felt light headed, like he was the in the underworld – Hades touching his cold dark hands to Wayne’s head – then, he found himself in a brightly lit room.

As he examined the room, Wayne felt as if he were being closely watched. Turning a corner, he saw Lily in an iron cage dangling from a rope over a boiling pit of melted copper. “Lily!” shouted Wayne. Lily looked as if all her hope had been taken ferociously out of her body.

Wayne ran to the edge of the pit. He reached his arm out as far as he could, but it only went half the distance. A fierce shrieking made Wayne almost fall in. He turn around and beheld Euryale, mad at him for trying to take its treasure. “You are trying to take my only treasure, You will pay for that!”  

It charged at Wayne. He ducked and rolled out of the way. Running, he took off his watch and held it in his hand. “You will pay!” Wayne made a sharp turn and ran straight towards Lily in her iron cage.

“Catch!” He threw Lily his watch, and then made another sharp turn.

“How do I use this?”

“Push the button!”

“You will pay!” Euryale stopped running after Wayne, turned and started running fast towards Lily’s cage. It jumped over the pit on to the cage.  “You will pay!” Reaching in the cage, Euryale seized Lily’s ring and leaped off. The weight of Euryale had made the rope brake, one strand at a time, until it fell into the boiling copper, only to come up broken with nothing in it.

“No,” whispered Wayne.

“You have paid the price.” Laughing a devious laugh, Euryale picked up, out off the copper, the cage, then, threw it at Wayne. It got Wayne in the leg. Euryale walked to its next victim slowly. Wayne’s leg was badly cut, so he could only crawl to the edge of the pit and pray… Euryale shrieked, then looked at Wayne, ready to strike. Wayne, thinking this was it, closed his eyes and waited for the final blow.  He heard a shriek, then nothing. Wayne opened his eyes only to see Euryale dead by his feet, and Lily with a dagger in her hands.

“Thanks.” said Wayne, examining the beast.

“Here is you wrist watch,” Lily handed his small watch back to him.

“I thought you were dead. What happened?”

“I pressed the button right before Euryale cut the rope, then landed behind Euryale, and I saw it throw the cage at you. I then took my dagger out of my shoe and snuck up behind it, and, well, you know the rest.

We should get out of here before some more monsters come.”

Lily helped Wayne limp out of the caves and into the sun. They walked back to where Euryale had first attacked them. Lily then put Wayne’s leg into the water.  It stung for a minute, then felt there wasn’t ever a cut. When he lifted his leg, he saw that his leg was completely healed. Empathy appeared on the water with a happy expression. “You have succeeded in you first challenge, but there are going to be more. Come where you are safe.”

In the middle of the lake the water dipped down to the bottom showing a long tunnel. Lily started to walk on the water as if it were ground. She shouted back, “Are you coming or not?”  Wayne looked as if  he was watching a ghost go through a wall.  Petrified, he got up and slowly walked to the edge of the water. He put one foot on the water. It felt cold and slippery like ice, but beneath him he could see fish swimming.  Wayne slipped into the ice cold water. “Are you alright?” Empathy asked trying not to smile.

“Yeah,” he replied.  As soon as Empathy touched Wayne, he felt new strength. Standing, he walked, like he was born on the water, to the entrance of the tunnel, then slid to the dirt. The tunnel got darker as they went along. Wayne saw in the dim light that in front of them was a small door with a dagger in the middle.

“You two will enter this door. Inside there will be challenges that you will have to face.”

“What are the challenges?”

“I don’t know.”

Looking over to Lily and seeing her frightened face made Wayne stand up straight and go slowly to the door.  He stretched out his hand, but before he touched the door it swung open and with a bang, it hit a wall.  A gust of cold air flew on Wayne’s face.  It made him feel as if he were dead – being placed down into the grave, never to see the light again.

“This is where I must leave you. Goodbye and best of luck.” Empathy vanished with a flash of light.  Wayne stepped into the dark room and, walking slowly, hit something.  He jumped back and relaxed, for it was only a wall. Wayne remembered his torch, so, with quick hands, pulled it out of his pocket and shone it on a wall with tons of vines hanging down. He walked until the path split.

“Which way do we go?” asked Lily.

“Um, that way.” He pointed to the left.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

They went to the left and found another split. This time, they went to the right. A faded green ball of light shone bright in Wayne’s face. “Agh, that’s bright.”

“What’s bright?”

“Can’t you see it?”

“See what?”

“The ball of light.”

“What ball of light?”

The ball started to move forwards. “Come on this way.” They followed the light to two great doors made purely of bones and gold.

“Well, we’re here, about to face Madith,” said Lily.

“What do you think he is like?”

“I don’t know – nasty probably.”

Lily stepped forwards and lightly touched the door made of skeletons and gold. It felt cold on lily’s soft, peach skin. She rubbed the door down the middle, then slowly pushed it open. Darkness seemed to swallow them; death seemed to hold them. It felt as if Madith were pulling them closer, closer, Wayne shone a light on a wall dripping black ooze: a black cat cocooned in a spider web dead with the spider sucking its blood, and a skeleton in bits of broken pieces along the floor. As they were walking, their torch suddenly burnt out leaving them in total darkness. Every once in a while, they would fall over either rocks, piles of dirt, or bones. Minutes passed by, but for them it felt like hours. Being forced to crawl over large rocks made their knees battered and bruised.

“I know why you are here. You can not defeat me.”

Lily, so surprised, fell to the ground dragging Wayne with her.  “Are you Madith?” asked Wayne.

“Yes, I’m the one who will have your lives in my hands in a few seconds.”

“What makes you so sure about that?” Lily said in a courteous tone.

“What makes me so sure is that I have something that one of you want badly, or did want badly.” After Madith said that, the floor started to open. It cracked straight between Wayne and Lily, then opened up, showing deep-down, molten lava bubbling. The crack spread wider apart every second, until it seemed as if it was a cauldron full of poison.

“Wayne, look out!” Lily shouted just as Madith appeared right behind him. Wayne turn to see none other than a woman in a black cloak with ivory hair and a hat just like a witches hat.

“I thought you said Madith was a man.”

“I thought she was.”

“Yes, everyone thought I was a man, because I wanted everyone to think I was a man. But now I will defeat you as easily as if I was a man!” With those words, she held out a hand and a ball of light hit Wayne in the chest. He fell to the ground, feeling as if he had been struck by a knife.

“I will talk, and you will listen. I have somthing you might want to have back. Of course, I’m not giving it back, but you might want to know that she is safe.”

“She?”

“Yes, she.” The wall in front of them opened up. Wayne’s eyes bulged out, and Lily’s heart pounded with fear.  In the middle was a woman on her knees, chained by her wrist to a large column. Her hair was in long tangled knots.  When she looked up, her face was stained was blood.

“Heather!” Wayne got up to run to the lady in chains, but only got shot back down by another ball of light. Heather lifted her stained face and immediately got up and ran as far as she could without hurting her arms.

“Let’s make a deal. I will let you have that thing,” Madith said, pointing to Heather, “if you let me have the girl.”

It struck Wayne then and there that he would have to choose either Lily or Heather. Waynes heart pounded, his head was in a whirl, which one, which one.

“I choose… Lily!” He said this, then caught a dagger thrown to him by Lily.  He ran at Madith and swung, but she caught his arm.

“Well?” asked Madith

“You must try harder than that! You have to have the element of surprise.” Madith disappeared only to appear again next to Heather.

“Like this!” Madith plunged a dagger into Heathers heart, leaving her breathless, hanging on chains.

Wayne stood with and threw his dagger at Madith with all his might, hitting her right in the heart. She screamed, but the scream slowly turned into a devilish laugh. She took the dagger out of her chest, and threw it to the ground.

She looked at Lily and said, “When you were little I took this from you.” Madith took out of her cloak a silver key.

“My other half, thats mine.”

Lily ran at Madith pushing her to the ground, sending the key spiraling to the edge of the crack. Lily got up and ran to the edge, grabbed the key and plunged it into her heart.

“No!” Madith lifted her arm up with murder in her eyes…

Lily grabbed around Madith’s waist and shouted, “for Lenova!” Lily shouted. Jumping off Lily and Madith plummeted down to their deaths. Leaving Wayne alone.

The End